


Mireille and Elisa and the Island Adventure

by mireille08



Series: The Adventures of Mireille and Elisa [2]
Category: The Eight - Katherine Neville
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Montglane Service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mireille08/pseuds/mireille08
Summary: Mireille visits the Bonapartes in Marseille in 1793, shortly after she kills Marat.  Elisa helps her deal with her guilt.  Lucien Bonaparte is kidnapped and held on an island along with some pieces from the Montglane Service, and the kidnappers know that Mireille killed Marat.  Will Mireille and Elisa be able to rescue him?  And will the kidnappers expose Mireille's secret?  There's a bit of a romance between Mireille and Lucien Bonaparte, but nothing more than a kiss.  This is the sequel to Mireille and Elisa and the Corsican Bandits, but can be read separately.  It's part of the series The Adventures of Mireille and Elisa, which will include at least four stories.





	1. An Unexpected Encounter

Mireille and Elisa and the Island Adventure

NOTE: This is the second story in the series "The Adventures of Mireille and Elisa. " The first is "Mireille and Elisa and the Corsican Bandits." Each story can be read on its own.

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Encounter

Marseille, France, July 20, 1793

Mireille stepped off the ship at Marseille and quickly found the nearest inn. She had not wanted to leave the ship, which was going to Tripoli, for this brief stop in Marseille, but the captain convinced her she needed the fresh air. She was utterly exhausted from a week of sleepless nights, and thin as a rail because she'd hardly eaten during that time: nothing but bread and water in her prison cell, and then, on the ship, she'd been too ill to eat. Her red hair, once lustrous and beautiful, hung in strings down her back, and her green eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, and had dark circles around them from lack of sleep. No one who met her would guess she was only eighteen.  
When she walked into the inn, she approached the innkeeper, a friendly-looking, heavy-set man in his fifties with thinning gray hair. "A glass of your strongest wine, please," she said, and then added, taking a deep breath and trying her best to keep her voice from breaking, "and may I see all the newspapers that have arrived since Marat's assassination?"  
"Certainly, Citoyenne," said the innkeeper, as if this were not an unusual request. Mireille looked long and hard into his face, but saw nothing that would give her a clue as to his opinion. She was sure he knew it was safest to give nothing away. "Nothing to eat?" he added.  
"No, Citoyen, I'm not hungry. Just thirsty after my voyage."  
The innkeeper nodded and went to get the newspapers. Mireille sat down at the table in the corner farthest from the door. Her heart pounded in her chest and she hid her hands under the table when she noticed they were shaking. She must not betray her worst fear: that it had somehow been discovered that it was she, and not Charlotte Corday, who had killed Marat.  
Mireille thought back on that horrific night--was it only a week ago?--and wondered how she had been capable of such a thing. She had never thought she could kill anyone. Every day she hoped it had been a nightmare, but she knew it was all too real. She had blood on her hands, and it would stay there for the rest of her life. Not only Marat's blood, but her friend Charlotte Corday's as well. She had allowed Charlotte to go to the guillotine in her place. She hadn't wanted her to make such a sacrifice. In fact, Mireille wanted to die, because she didn't know how she could live with herself after what she'd done. But Charlotte had convinced her that she, Mireille, was the one who had to live, because Mireille was the Black Queen in the deadly Game being played for control of the Montglane Service, the legendary chess set that had once belonged to Charlemagne and which contained a secret of enormous power.  
Less than a year ago, Mireille's beloved cousin Valentine, whom she had loved like a sister, had been murdered--beheaded in front of Mireille's own eyes--on Marat's orders, for the pieces of the Montglane Service that the two girls had buried in their uncle Jacques-Louis David's garden. Ever since then, Mireille had been determined to take revenge on Marat, but she hadn't known, until the moment she killed him, what form her revenge would take. She had thought she would try to get the pieces he had in his possession, so she could collect enough of the pieces to win the Game, keeping the secret out of his power forever. But matters had escalated, and she had killed him before she'd even thought about what she was doing. And then came Charlotte's revelation in the prison cell: that Mireille was, in fact, the Black Queen, the most powerful piece of all. Until then, Mireille's beloved Abbess of Montglane, who had brought her and Valentine up as if they'd been her own daughters, had been the Black Queen, but she had resigned from the Game, leaving her place to Mireille. Like the Abbess, Mireille had been born on the fourth of April, and she had the same birthmark that looked like a figure 8 on the palm of her right hand. Except the Abbess' hand hadn't been a murderer's hand, thought Mireille with bitterness. She felt totally unworthy of such an important role.  
"Here you are, Citoyenne," said the innkeeper, placing the wine glass and newspapers in front of Mireille. "If there's anything else you need, just ask."  
Mireille nodded, and as soon as the innkeeper's back was turned, she grabbed at the newspapers, searching through every word in their accounts of Marat's assassination. To her great relief, none of them mentioned her. So at least her secret was safe. In the latest newspaper to arrive, she read the account of Charlotte Corday's execution. Charlotte had gone to the guillotine very bravely, keeping Mireille's secret to the end. She was glad for Charlotte's sake, but fought back tears, thinking of her friend's terrible sacrifice. How she wished it had never had to be!  
She spent longer than she had meant to, looking at all the newspapers, and the innkeeper kept stopping by to refill her wine glass. The strong wine tasted bitter, and she had made a face when she first swallowed it, but after a while she got used to it, and hoped she'd get so drunk she'd forget about what she'd done. But it didn't happen. The wine did nothing but make her feel sleepy, and she didn't want to sleep because she knew she'd have nightmares. The innkeeper shook her gently by the shoulder as she started to nod off. "Citoyenne, I can see you're very tired," he said. "Do you require a bed for the night?"  
"No, thank you," said Mireille. Her words came out slightly slurred. "I have to get back to my ship. I really must be going. Thank you for everything." She paid him, and left the inn.  
She was going to board the ship, but near the dock she saw a bookseller's stand. Mireille could never resist a bookseller. All her life, she'd found solace in books, even though, during her voyage, she'd read through the ones she carried with her in her bag and found no comfort in them. She hoped, if she bought new ones, she'd find much-needed consolation. She started looking through all the books, trying to decide what to buy, when she heard a familiar voice call, "Mireille!" and before she knew it, her good friend Elisa Bonaparte was at her side.  
"Elisa!" exclaimed Mireille, and the two girls threw their arms around each other. Elisa was sixteen, small for her age and fragile, with dark chestnut hair and dark blue-gray eyes. "How long have you been in Marseille?"  
"I might ask the same of you," said Elisa, her eyes lit up like lanterns. "But I think you have something to tell me that can't be said in front of all these people, isn't that true?"  
Mireille nodded, her face falling as she grasped the enormity of her situation. She'd have to tell her secret to Elisa. What would her friend think of her? She remembered, just before she'd left Corsica in January, after the two girls had had an adventure where they'd fought bandits and rescued the White King of the Montglane Service, that Elisa had told her she had to kill Marat. It was the only way to avenge Valentine's death and make sure her spirit was at rest. But what Elisa had said about spirits not being able to rest until their death was avenged--it was all an old legend, wasn't it? Surely Elisa hadn't really meant that Mireille should kill Marat? Mireille was afraid Elisa would be horrified if she knew, but she could hardly avoid telling her now. She felt a lump in her throat. After all she'd been through, with Valentine's death, her killing of Marat, Charlotte Corday's sacrifice--she couldn't bear the thought of losing Elisa's friendship.  
All she could manage to say was, "Let's look through the books first. Then I'll tell you. But how do you happen to be in Marseille?"  
"My family's been exiled from Corsica."  
"When I left Corsica after our adventure, you thought that would happen. So have you been here since January?"  
"No, we went to Toulon first. But the climate was too royalist for us to be comfortable there, since my brothers support the Revolution. So we came here instead. We've been here for a month now."  
"And how do you like it here?"  
"Very much, even though I miss Corsica. But I'm very happy because Felix Baciocchi is here, too! He's a distant relative of ours, so he was exiled with us. Now you'll get to meet him at last! Won't that be wonderful?"  
Felix Baciocchi, an officer in Elisa's brother Napoleon's regiment, was the man Elisa had loved ever since she returned to Corsica after the revolutionaries had closed her boarding school at St.-Cyr. Napoleon had not approved of their love, because he wanted to make a grander marriage for her. At the time she had stayed with the Bonapartes on Corsica, Mireille had wanted to meet him, but he and Napoleon had been called back to their regiment.  
"Yes, I would love to meet him," said Mireille. "And I wish you could meet Talleyrand, too. But he's in England." As Elisa knew, Talleyrand was Mireille's lover, and, as she didn't yet know, the father of her three-month-old son, Charlot, who was now living in the desert in Algeria with Mireille's friend Shahin. Mireille had been on her way back there to join them, before they were to go to England to meet with Talleyrand.  
"So you're on your way to England, then?" asked Elisa.  
"Eventually, yes, but first I have to go to Tripoli, then to Algeria. Your grandmother's friend Shahin is there. He's become a good friend of mine. And," she whispered, "I have a son! His name is Charlot, and he has red hair like me, but his eyes are blue and his face looks like Talleyrand's. I never want to leave him again. But Shahin won't leave him, either, so we're all going to England together."  
Elisa's face glowed. "A son! Why, that's wonderful, Mireille! So you were with child the whole time we were on Corsica, having our adventure. Not that I didn't suspect, of course." She smiled. "I would love to meet him someday. But I'm sure that's not the only secret you have to tell me, and I think what you have to say will take a long time to tell. How soon do you have to be back on your ship?"  
"As soon as possible, I'm afraid."  
"Is there any way you can stay here until the next ship to Tripoli arrives? That way you can live with us for a while. We'd all love to hear about your adventures. Especially Lucien." Elisa smiled. Both girls knew that Lucien, who was exactly Mireille's age, had feelings for Mireille that she could never return, even though that did not keep them from being close friends.  
"Oh, I couldn't! I must get back to my son."  
"He's in good hands. I've never met Shahin, but my mother and, especially, my grandmother, speak very highly of him. Please come and stay with us!"  
Mireille hesitated. Under normal circumstances, she'd like nothing better. The Bonapartes had been the closest thing she'd ever had to a family of her own, and she'd always longed to have one. But what would they think of her after what she'd done? Especially the brothers, who supported the Revolution? She didn't quite know what they thought of Marat. But then she remembered Lucien calling him a monster once. He's said he supported the Revolution, but not in the hands of a monster like Marat. But his general feelings about Marat were one thing. What would he think if he knew Mireille had killed Marat? Wouldn't he be horrified? "Elisa, I would love to stay with you," Mireille began, but her voiced cracked, and she couldn't keep the tears from pouring down her cheeks. "But..." she muttered, "I cannot."  
Elisa put an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear. "I think I know why you hesitate," she said. Looking around to make sure no one could hear, she added, "You killed Marat, didn't you?"  
Mireille nodded, and swallowed back her tears. Her whole body shook as Elisa held her in her arms. "I knew it all along!" Elisa whispered. "You'll tell me how it was that the newspapers got it wrong, of course, but I always knew it was you. Mireille, you're my hero!"  
Mireille pulled away from her embrace in astonishment. Remembering to keep her voice down, she said, "I'm not a hero."  
"Yes, you are! I'm very proud of you. And now Valentine's spirit can rest."  
"I hope so. But my spirit will never rest. I'll always have blood on my hands," Mireille whispered. "And what will your family think? Especially your brothers?"  
"They'll be proud of you, too, you'll see. My brothers support the Revolution, but they never wanted to see it in that monster's hands. They were glad to hear he was dead. But we tried to guess whether it was you or Charlotte Corday. Maman, Lucien, and I all thought it was you, and the others thought it was she. I'm very glad we were right."  
Mireille shook her head. "So you're not horrified that your friend is a murderer?"  
"How could you say such a thing? I told you, you're a hero. But we can't say any more here, even though we're whispering. Let's buy our books and then go to a private room in an inn, and you can tell me everything."  
After looking around at the books for a while, Mireille decided to buy a volume of Herodotus in Greek, which contained a description of the Atlas Mountains, which she had explored with Shahin only a few months before. The Abbess had taught her Greek when she was twelve years old, and she had learned it extraordinarily quickly, as she always did with languages. "Herodotus in Greek?" asked Elisa when she saw it. "That's ambitious, isn't it?"  
"Not for me," said Mireille. "I can read it quite easily. Don't you read Greek?"  
"I learned a little at St.-Cyr, and I have to say I liked it, but I haven't kept up with it, and I'm afraid I've forgotten all I learned. But don't you want to get something more enjoyable than that?"  
"I find Herodotus quite enjoyable. But you mean a novel, I suppose? Let me see..." Mireille picked up a popular romance called Paul et Virginie and leafed through the pages. "I will buy this as well."  
"A perfect choice," said Elisa. "I've read it myself and found it very pleasant reading." Lowering her voice, she added, "And just the thing to distract your mind at this time." Then, speaking in a normal voice, she said, "Of course, Napoleon thinks that this is the only sort of thing women should read." She wrinkled her nose. "I love Napoleon, and he is the best of brothers, but his attitude toward women disgusts me! I'm hoping his new sweetheart will help to change his mind."  
"Napoleon has a sweetheart?" asked Mireille.  
"Oh, he's had many, but so far they haven't lasted long. I hope this one will last, though. He seems more serious about her than the others. She's a merchant's daughter. Napoleon met her almost as soon as we arrived in Marseille. Her name is Désirée Clary. And, wouldn't you know it, Joseph fell in love with her sister Julie. They're always with us now. I'm hoping Napoleon will marry Désirée, but I seem to be the only one in the family besides Joseph who hopes so. None of the others like her."  
"Why not?"  
"They all think he can do better than her. But what does that matter, if he loves her? Even though her father isn't noble, he certainly has money, which is what we don't have. And she's been very good to Napoleon. So I'd be happy to see them get married. If only she'd help him change his mind about Felix and me! I don't understand why he thinks Felix isn't good enough for me, when he wants to marry a girl his family thinks isn't good enough for him! Oh, well, I will never understand men!" Elisa shook her head. "Now, let me see which books I'd like to buy." Eventually, she chose a new edition of the plays of Corneille, and one of the plays of Racine.  
Mireille wasn't surprised by her choice. Elisa had always loved the theater, going back to her days at St.-Cyr, when the girls put on theatricals. Now she and her family often performed plays, among themselves. "For your theatricals, I suppose," said Mireille when she saw the books Elisa was buying.  
"That's right. We'll put one on while you stay with us."  
Mireille shuddered. "No! I cannot. It was hard for me even when I was staying on Corsica, but now..." She lowered her voice, "After what I've done, I just cannot."  
"You don't have to act. You can just watch."  
"But those plays are full of murders. I can't even watch."  
"Not all of them. They wrote comedies as well, you know. We'll put one of them on. But I should let you know that Lucien is writing a play about Charlemagne, and he's dedicating it to you!" Elisa grinned.  
"To me? That's very nice of him, even though I'm sure he will change his mind. I didn't know Lucien wrote plays."  
"He does, and it's quite good, if I say so myself. Perhaps we can put that one on as well. It depends how long you stay."  
"That reminds me, I've got to go back to the ship and tell the captain I won't be continuing on this voyage, and get my things."  
Elisa nodded, and waited while Mireille went back to the ship. It didn't take her long to return, carrying her portmanteau. As soon as Mireille came back, Elisa said, "And now we can go to an inn and talk. You look like you could use something to eat. But I don't know if you can drink any more. I smelled the wine on your breath, you know. Mireille, it's not like you to overindulge in wine."  
"I was just trying to forget. It didn't work."  
Elisa put an arm around her shoulders as they walked together in search of an inn. Mireille told her she wanted to avoid the one closest to the docks, because that's where she'd had the wine. "And I asked to see the newspapers about Marat," she whispered. "The innkeeper will remember me." So they found an inn a few streets away.  
This inn was more respectable-looking than the first one Mireille had visited, and they were able to find a private room. Elisa ordered a plate of oysters, a glass of wine for herself, but only water for Mireille. "We'll be eating a large meal at home, so we'll just have oysters now," she said. "Now, Mireille, you've got to tell me everything. But let's speak in Italian. Even in a private room, we might be overheard. At least if we spoke Italian, they won't understand us."  
Mireille agreed to speak Italian. The Bonapartes had grown up speaking Italian at home in Corsica, and hadn't learned French until they went to school. Mireille had learned Italian on the ship on the way to Corsica, and, even after such a short time, she spoke it as well as Elisa, who'd been speaking it all her life. She told Elisa all about her adventures with Shahin in Algeria, and the birth of her son. But she waited to talk about her killing of Marat until after the waiter had brought the oysters and left. Then she told Elisa every detail of what happened. When she was finished, Elisa came around to her side of the table, threw her arms around her, and held her for a long time. "Poor Mireille, it must have been horrible for you," she said. "But remember, you rid the world of a monster and saved thousands of innocent lives. You're a hero!"  
"I don't feel like one."  
"You might not now, but you should. I am very proud of you."  
Mireille shook her head. "But poor Charlotte! She went to the guillotine for me. She was certainly innocent, and I let her die!" She burst into tears.  
Elisa held her close. "You had no choice. You're the one who had to live, for the sake of the Game. Charlotte knew that. And if what Marat told you before you killed him is true, you have a new enemy in England, a woman named Catherine Grand, the White Queen. She might not be as much of as monster as Marat, but she sounds evil enough. You're the only one who can defeat her, and prevent her from discovering the secret of the Montglane Service."  
"I know that, but I have so much blood on my hands already."  
"Find all the pieces and end the Game! Then you can use the formula for good, and no more blood will have to be shed."  
"That's what I'm hoping."  
"And you will, I'm sure of it. You're the only one who can. That's why Charlotte sacrificed her life for you."  
Mireille nodded, and they finished the oysters in silence. It felt good to have some food in her stomach again, Mireille realized.  
More time had passed than the girls had thought at first, and when they left the inn, the sun was setting. "Oh, look how late it is!" said Elisa. "We missed dinner, and now we might be late to supper. Maman will be so worried about me. But we'll make up for it, as soon as she sees you! Everyone will be so glad you're here, and staying with us for a while."  
"You're not going to tell them what I did, are you?"  
"Why not? We've been speculating about it ever since we got the newspapers, as I said. Everyone was glad that monster was dead, no matter who killed him. And they will be very glad to know it was you. They'll all be just as proud of you as I am, you'll see."  
"What about Napoleon's sweetheart? She doesn't know me."  
"Oh, we talk to her about you all the time. She knows exactly who you are, and she'll be very happy to meet you at last."  
"I hope you're right."  
"I know so."


	2. Supper with the Bonapartes

Chapter 2: Supper with the Bonapartes

And so they walked to the Bonapartes' house. When she opened the door, Elisa shouted, "Sorry I'm late. I have a surprise for you!" The whole family came to the door and stared at Mireille in astonishment. Mireille felt herself surrounded by her close friends, the only family she'd ever known. And then she was caught up in an embrace.  
"Mireille!" shouted Napoleon as he held her closely. "How glad I am to see you here. I wish I'd been there when you and Elisa had your adventure on Corsica. She told me all about it, of course. But you have got to tell us what you've been doing all this time." He turned slightly, and Mireille noticed a fashionably-dressed young woman at his side. She was about the same age as Elisa, and around the same height, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. "And I'd like to introduce you to my sweetheart, Désirée Clary. She's the daughter of a silk merchant here."  
"I've told Mireille all that already," interrupted Elisa, with a smile.  
"Of course you did," said Napoleon. " Désirée, this is Mireille de Remy, the one I've spoken of so often before. She's like another sister to us."  
Désirée 's face lit up in a warm smile. "I am so happy to meet you at last, Mireille. Napoleon has told me so much about you, I feel I know you already."  
"I am very pleased to meet you as well," said Mireille, with an attempt at a smile.  
Then she noticed Elisa had taken the hand of a tall soldier in his early thirties. He was very tall, with brown hair, and looked younger than his age. "Mireille, this is Felix Baciocchi," she said.  
Mireille took his hand and said, "And I feel I know you already. Elisa has told me so much about you."  
Felix smiled warmly. "I am very happy to meet you. You're like another sister to Elisa." He whispered in her ear, "I think she's closer to you than to her own sisters."  
Mireille could easily believe that. Pauline, Elisa's next sister, a girl of thirteen, was very beautiful, but already she had nothing in her head but young men. Unlike Elisa, she had not been given a good education, because by the time she was old enough to go to school, the family had run out of money and could not afford to send her. Once Elisa had told Mireille that Pauline was starting to send love letters to young men, except that Elisa had to write them for her because Pauline could hardly write. Mireille found Pauline rather charming, mostly because she reminded her of her beloved cousin Valentine, but she could also see why Elisa became annoyed with her. The youngest sister, Caroline, was still only a child of eleven, but she also had not been well educated, and her manners always seemed cold and distant. But she had taken a liking to Mireille from the very beginning. And now the two younger girls embraced her, followed by the two younger boys, fifteen-year-old Louis and nine-year-old Jerome.  
Then she felt a pair of strong arms around her, and she looked into the handsome face of Lucien Bonaparte. She felt awkward at first, because Lucien had declated his love for her on Corsica, but she could not return his feelings, because she was in love with Talleyrand. But in spite of herself, she felt something stir inside her heart while she returned Lucien's embrace. "Mireille, I've missed you so!" he exclaimed.  
"And I have missed you as well."  
"You have?" Lucien's face lit up. Mireille knew he was thinking there might be some hope for him, after all.  
"Of course I have! You're my friend, after all." Then, as she saw the disappointment in his face, she realized her mistake and added, "You are very dear to me, Lucien. You know that. And I hear you're writing a play about Charlemagne."  
He nodded. "I've dedicated it to you."  
"I hardly deserve it. But I would love to read it."  
"When it's ready, I will be happy to show it to you."  
They were interrupted by a tiny woman in her fifties, with reddish chestnut hair. Letizia Bonaparte threw her arms around Mireille and held her close. "Mireille! At last! You don't know how worried I've been about you, ever since you left Corsica. We all read your letters to Elisa, of course, but I couldn't help but worry about you, out in the desert by yourself."  
"Hardly by myself," said Mireille as she returned her embrace. "Shahin was with me the whole time, so I was in good hands, as you know. And... I've had a child! His name is Charlot, and he's three months old now. He's with Shahin and his people now, but I'm coming back for him, as soon as I can."  
Letizia smiled. "I knew you were with child all along. I didn't want to say anything, because you and Elisa were so determined to have your adventure. But your son is well?"  
"Very much. Shahin delivered him, because there was no one else."  
Letizia stepped back a little and looked into Mireille's face. "You look sad, Mireille. Not the way a new mother should look. Well, I imagine you're missing Talleyrand. He's gone off to England, I hear."  
"Of course I miss him. But it's not just that."  
"Something else you're sad about? Valentine, of course."  
"Always. But that's not it." Mireille shuddered, and Letizia held her close.  
"Well, we will hear about it at the supper table. Supper should be ready by now, and we're all here. Joseph won't be joining us. He's dining with the Clary family. You've met Désirée, of course." Letizia wrinkled her brow, and Mireille remembered what Elisa had said, that none of the other Bonapartes liked Désirée. "Her sister Julie is Joseph's sweetheart." Whispering in Mireille's ear, she added, "I think my sons can do better than that, but that's just between you and me." Raising her voice to normal level again, she went on, "I'm afraid it's only a very simple meal. Just mussels and clams and octopus. If I'd known we'd have such a special guest, I would have had a larger meal made."  
"That sounds good to me. To tell the truth, I haven't been very hungry for a long time."  
Letizia looked more closely at her, and her face fell. "Why, Mireille, you're as thin as a rail! For a young woman who's so recently given birth... that's very upsetting, that is! What's happened to you? Have you been ill?"  
"In a way, yes." Mireille blinked back tears. "I've hardly eaten for a week."  
"We must do something about that! As long as you stay with us, you will eat well. I just feel bad that we don't have more for tonight."  
They walked together to the table, where Mireille found herself seated between Elisa and Désirée, and across from Lucien. She forced herself to eat at first, but when she realized how delicious the food was, she ate heartily. The family spoke French at the table, instead of their usual Italian, because Désirée didn't understand Italian. Everyone was eager to hear Mireille's adventures, and she told them all that had happened to her in the desert. They were astonished by her tales of such a faraway place. But when she spoke of her return to France after giving birth to her son, she turned as pale as a sheet, and swallowed hard, choking back her tears. "I'm sorry. I can't go on," she said.  
"Oh, Mireille!" said Elisa, taking her hand under the table. "If you won't tell them, I will. Mireille is a hero, everyone! She killed Marat."  
Mireille felt the room spin around her, and she held onto Elisa's arm for support and looked away, afraid to see the looks on their faces. What if they all turned against her? But she didn't need to worry. They all congratulated her on her great courage. Lucien leaned over the table and gave her a big kiss on the lips. "Mireille, how incredibly brave!" he exclaimed. "I always thought it was you, and so did Maman and Elisa. Napoleon and the others thought it was Charlotte Corday, as the newspapers said."  
"Well, for once in my life, I was wrong," said Napoleon.  
"And probably the only time," Elisa teased him.  
"Perhaps. We will see. But, Mireille, you have been heroic, and I'm very glad the monster is dead. Tell me, though, how was it the newspapers came to say it was Charlotte Corday who killed Marat?"  
Mireille was gasping for breath as she looked into the faces of her dear friends, who were proud of her instead of rejecting her as a murderer, as she had feared. In a broken voice, she told them, "Charlotte Corday and I looked very much alike. As if we were twins, even though she was a few years older than me. I was carrying her papers when I went to see Marat. She agreed to let me do it, because she knew all the nuns of Montglane were in danger from him. And Marat would never have agreed to see me if I'd given my own name. So I gave him hers. After--what I did--" her voice broke up again, "they found Charlotte's papers on me. So I was tried, and condemned to death, as Charlotte Corday. Then, about an hour before I was supposed to go to the guillotine, Charlotte came to visit me in prison. Before I go on, have all of you heard of the Montglane Service?" She looked pointedly at the two newcomers, Felix and Désirée.  
"Napoleon and Elisa have told us all about it," said Désirée, and Felix nodded in agreement.  
"And do you know about the deadly Game being played for the pieces, and the powerful formula they contain?"  
They nodded.  
"Well, Charlotte told me I'm the Black Queen in the Game."  
Letizia interrupted. "I always thought you were, as soon as I met you."  
"Yes, Maman, on Corsica you told us there was a new Black Queen to take the Abbess' place, and you had some suspicions about who it was," said Elisa.  
"I had a feeling it was Mireille as soon as I saw the figure 8 birthmark on her hand. And I know her birthday is April 4, as the Black Queen's should be," said Letizia. "But go on, Mireille."  
"So Charlotte said because I'm the Black Queen, I was the one who had to live. I didn't want her to make such a sacrifice. Oh, I did not want her to die!" she burst out in sobs, and Elisa held her closely. "Too much blood has been spilled already! But she insisted. We traded clothes in my prison cell, and she went to the guillotine in my place. I wish I could have died as I deserved!"  
"No, Mireille," said Letizia. "Don't ever say that! You do not deserve to die! You're a hero!"  
"No, I'm not."  
"Stop saying that," said Elisa. "You are, and I won't hear you saying you're not, ever again. Of course I wish Charlotte could have lived. But it had to be, and there was nothing you could do about it. So stop carrying so much guilt around."  
"I can't help it."  
"You may feel that way now," said Letizia, "But some day you'll feel differently. It will take a while, of course. Perhaps many years. But you will."  
By this time, it was late, and they were all tired. Lucien clasped Mireille's hand across the table.  
"You're glad of what I did?" Mireille asked him. "How can that be? You're a Jacobin!"  
"Not that kind of Jacobin," said Lucien. "As I've said many times before, I never wanted to see the Revolution in the hands of a monster like Marat. I am very glad he's dead. But, unfortunately, others in the Jacobin Club of Marseille don't agree. In fact, we're just about evenly divided. Half of us wanted to celebrate Marat's death, but the other half wanted to mourn him and make a martyr of him. Sadly, they won out. Now the leaders of the Jacobin Club consider me an outcast."  
"I'm so sorry, Lucien. It's all because of me."  
"I would not have wanted to spend my time with those people, anyway. At least now I know who my enemies are."  
"No more gloomy thoughts!" interrupted Letizia. "I'm an old woman, and it's late. Felix, would you like to play some music for us?"  
"Gladly, Citoyenne Bonaparte," said Felix, and he went to get his violin. He played beautifully, and everyone watched him in amazement, even though all except Mireille had heard him play many times. Mireille relaxed as she heard him play, and she was greatly soothed by the music. For a moment she felt as if she'd died and gone to Heaven, so beautiful was his playing. But then she realized that she was forever barred from Heaven because of when she'd done, and the tears flowed down her cheeks once again.  
When he was finished, she said, "That was incredble, Felix! You play so beautifully. Thank you!"  
Felix smiled. "I love it more than anything else. And I am very glad to play for Elisa's dearest friend. And a great hero."  
"Please, I don't want to be called a hero."  
"But you are." He took her hand. "Well, I must take my leave and return to my lodgings for the night. I am very happy to have met you at last, Mireille. No doubt we will see each other many times during your stay."  
Felix and Désirée took their leave of the Bonapartes, and Felix returned to his lodgings and Désirée to her family. Then the Bonapartes went to bed. Mireille shared Elisa's room, as she had on Corsica.


	3. Lonely Chidhoods

Chapter 3: Lonely Childhoods

As soon as she got into bed, Mireille curled up and started crying into her pillow. Elisa shook her by the shoulder. "Mireille, we need to talk," she said, and put an arm around her shoulder. "I won't put up with any more of your whining, you know. Marat wasn't worth it."  
Mireille shook her head. "You don't know what it's like to kill a man."  
"No, I don't. But I have a pretty good idea."  
"What do you mean?"  
"My brothers, of course! They've killed men in battle. I saw how they were when they came home. Very much like you. But they've gone on with their lives, and they will go back to the battlefield when they have to."  
"Oh," said Mireille, feeling stupid. Of course Elisa's brothers were soldiers, and had been in battle. She should have realized they'd killed men. But somehow it didn't seem the same. "But they're soldiers. It's their job to kill people. It's not mine."  
"So you don't think we're at war? Open your eyes, Mireille! This Game is just as much of a war as the one my brothers are fighting. Those people on the White team are absolutely evil, and Marat was the worst of all. They would not hesitate to kill us. Look what happened to Valentine. It could easily have been you, or me if I had been there. And the stakes are even greater than in my brothers' war. We don't know yet what the secret of the Montglane Service is, but it must be enormously powerful. Just think what would happen if these people got their hands on it. You might not have won the Game for us yet, but you took a huge step towards it. You saved thousands of innocent lives. Not just those about to go to the guillotine in Paris--I hate to say it, but I think Robespierre will send many more to the guillotine--but everyone who would have died if Marat had gotten his hands on those pieces. Who knows, he could have destroyed the whole world. You kept that from happening, Mireille! And now you go about whining and feeling sorry for yourself. You shouldn't. You're so much stronger than that."  
"I know what you're saying is right, Elisa. Believe me, I do. But still, I will always have this stain on my soul. I'll never get rid of it."  
"You have absolutely no stain on your soul. That's nonsense! Think of Valentine's soul. She's finally at rest, now that you've avenged her death. Remember what I told you, about the vendetta traversa, and how a murdered person's soul wanders the earth, until his or her death is avenged."  
"Of course I remember, but that's just an old legend. I'm sure you didn't really mean it."  
"Have I ever said anything I don't mean?"  
Mireille shook her head. "No."  
"And these old legends have a way of turning out to be true. We used to think the Montglane Service was just a legend, but it turned out to be all too real. So why shouldn't it be true that Valentine's soul would have wandered the earth until you avenged her death, and now she's at rest?"  
"Well, it's true that those strange nightmares I was having about her have stopped. But then, I haven't been able to sleep since that night."  
"Since you killed Marat?"  
"Yes."  
"Then why not say so? I've noticed you never say it directly. It's always 'That night,' 'What I did,' 'What happened.' You seem to want to avoid the matter. It might help you if you actually say it."  
"Can you blame me for not wanting to talk about it?"  
"Actually, I do. You're being very silly."  
"If you'd killed a man, you'd be just the same way."  
"Perhaps I would. Who's to say?" Elisa admitted. "I hope it never comes to that. But if it does, it does. As I said, we're at war, just as much as my brothers are. And I'll do what I have to, to survive, and to win the war."  
"And you wouldn't feel bad about it later?"  
"Well," Elisa let out a sigh. "I suppose I would. But I'd go on with my life. And so should you." She paused for a while, then went on, "Mireille, there's something else I want you to know. Remember what you said to me, just before you left Corsica? You said, 'It's good to have a friend again.' I'll never forget that. Well, I feel the same way. Perhaps even more so. I want to tell you how much your friendship means to me. You see, Mireille, I never had a real friend before you. I know you're devastated by Valentine's death, but at least you had her as a friend. I never had anyone until I met you. Well, except Lucien and Felix, but they're men and that's different."  
Mireille threw her arms around Elisa. "Oh, Elisa, I didn't know. But you have your sisters, and perhaps... your sister-in-law to be? I like her very much, by the way, and I hope she will be your sister-in-law one day. And you must have had friends at St.-Cyr."  
Elisa shook her head. "My sisters and I are not particularly close, as I think you can tell. They seem to like you better than me. I do like Désirée, but I haven't known her for very long, and there's no way of knowing if Napoleon will marry her. He does seem more serious about her than about his other sweethearts, but his heart has been fickle before, and who's to say it won't be again. But what I really wanted to talk to you about is St.-Cyr. I told you what a wonderful education I got there, which I will always be grateful for. I wish all girls, all over the world, could get an education like that. And I wish I'd been able to finish mine. As you know, St.-Cyr closed a few years before I could finish. The headmistress, who was a friend of your Abbess, of course, was very good to me. She was like a second mother, just as the Abbess was like a mother to you. But as for the other girls..." Elisa shuddered, and blinked back tears. "They were horrible."  
Mireille held her closer. "All of them?"  
"Yes. You see, St.-Cyr was a school for aristocratic girls. I was one of the few who wasn't. I got in on a stipend, and because my family has been noble since at least the sixteenth century. But we've always been very minor nobility, and poor. And not French, but Genoese and then Corsican. All those girls were from the old French nobility, and they looked down their noses at me from the beginning. They made fun of my Corsican accent, my tattered clothes, even my hair. Imagine what it was like for me. I was seven years old, I'd been torn away from my family and sent to this far-away school, and I couldn't even speak the language. As you know, we speak Italian at home. I didn't learn French until I went to St.-Cyr. But even though I didn't know exactly what those girls were saying at first, I could tell what they meant. And I learned French quickly, Not as quickly as you learn languages, Mireille--that really is a gift! But more quickly than most. But it was even worse after I learned French, because then I knew what they were saying about me." She burst out in tears, and Mireille stroked her hair.  
"Oh, Elisa, how horrible! Not one single girl was kind to you?"  
"Not one. Only the headmistress and some of the teachers. But not even all the teachers. Some of them were cruel to me. They thought it was somehow my fault, that I should have made more of an effort to be friends with the other girls."  
"But that's crazy! How could you be friends with them when they were cruel to you?"  
"Exactly. But that's not the way they saw it. Somehow the teachers thought I was doing something to make them act that way to me, even though I can't imagine what it was. Who can understand their way of thinking? I think, though, that they were awfully impressed by these girls' families' titles of nobility and, in many cases, their wealth. And I, of course, had nothing, and not only that, but I was a foreigner. It's obvious whose side they would be on."  
"But they should have tried to help you."  
"They should have, but they didn't. Anyway, I took refuge in books. My books were always my friends, much more than the other girls. But of course the girls, and the teachers blamed me for that, too. They all thought I should have been doing things with the other girls instead of spending my time reading."  
Mireille held her close. "Poor Elisa! I had no idea they were so cruel there. It was the same way for me, about the books."  
"I know it was. Then, later on, I found another refuge, when we started putting on plays. You see, in a play I could become someone else, and forget who I was for a while. That was a great comfort to me, and that's why I've always loved the theater. But even then, when we put on our plays, there were girls who'd make fun of my accent. By then I was older and I tried to ignore them, but it still hurt."  
"Oh, Elisa! How horrible they were. But I'm glad you found a love for the theater."  
"It is wonderful to become someone else for a while. Are you sure you wouldn't like to try it? It might help you."  
Mireille shook her head. "No, I couldn't. I was too nervous when I tried to take part in your theatricals on Corsica, and that was before... before I killed Marat. Now I don't think I ever could speak lines in front of an audience. And there, I've finally said it. It doesn't make me feel any better."  
"It takes time, but I'm glad you've taken the first step. Anyway, about acting in plays, you forget about it while you're doing it. You become that other person."  
"It doesn't work that way for me. I wish it did. But, Elisa, I'm so sorry that you had to go through all that! It must have been absolutely horrible."  
"And that's why I am so grateful for your friendship. It has made my life so much happier, being friends with you. And that's why I don't want you to waste your life crying over Marat. He was not worth one little tear."  
"I'm not crying over him. I'm crying over what I've become."  
"What you've become is a wonderful, kind, brave person. I'm extremely honored to have you as my friend."  
"I'm honored to have you as mine. You see, Elisa, my experience was not that different from yours."  
"At Montglane?"  
"Yes."  
"But you had such a close friend in Valentine."  
"I was very lucky to have Valentine. I know that. Even though I'll always be heartbroken by her death." Mireille swallowed back a sob. "And the Abbess was like a mother to both of us. But Valentine and I were not the only novices there. We were the youngest, and the next-youngest were two years older than us, so we didn't have any companions of our own age. But the ones who were a few years older were never kind to me."  
"Were they kind to Valentine?"  
"Oh, yes. Valentine loved everyone, and everyone loved her. But it was different for me. You see, Valentine was the one with the aristocratic father. He died when she was seven, as did mine. There was a plague in Paris that killed our parents, as I've told you before. But Valentine's father was the heir to a title and a fortune--a fortune that came to her, when he died, and when our grandfather died a few years later. But my father was a younger son, and had nothing. No title and no fortune. My entire existence was dependent on Valentine. And the other novices knew it, and never let me forget it. They all looked down on me. At least, as novices, we wore habits. I hated it at the time, but at least I didn't have any tattered clothes for them to make fun of. But if it had been a school like St.-Cyr, they would have treated me exactly the way the girls treated you."  
"Oh, Mireille, I didn't know! What a tragic life you've had!" Elisa held her close.  
"Valentine and the Abbess were my only comfort. And my books, of course. Like you, I always took refuge in books. I remember when I was ten years old I decided I was going to read all the books in the library at Montglane. I started at the top of the first shelf and worked my way down."  
Elisa smiled. "That sounds like something I tried to do, too. And did you read all of them?"  
"No, Montglane closed before I could. I did read a lot of them, though, in five years. But Montglane had a very large library. I often wonder what happened to all the books there. We were thinking so much about getting the Montglane Service out of there, because of all the danger involved, we didn't really think about the books at the time. I wonder if they're still there, in the empty abbey, or if any of the nuns took them with them. How about you? Did you read all the books at St.-Cyr?"  
"No, I also had to leave before I could. But, as I said, they were a great comfort to me, even though most of the teachers didn't understand."  
"A lot of the nuns at Montglane were like your teachers. They thought I should have been friendlier to the other novices, instead of spending my time reading. A very strange attitude, isn't it?"  
"Yes, these people should encourage learning, shouldn't they? But when someone wants to learn, they think they're strange for not spending time with the other girls."  
"Anyway, my books were more my friends than any of the other novices except Valentine, of course. She was no reader, but she had the kindest heart imaginable. And if any of the novices started to act cruel, she'd step in to protect me. I wish you'd had someone like her." Mireille burst into tears, and Elisa put her arms around her.  
"I wish I had, too. It would have made a big difference. But now I do." Elisa smiled at her.  
"I could never be as kind as Valentine. She would never have killed a man."  
"Oh, yes, she would. If Marat had had you killed in the prison massacres, she would have killed him to avenge your death, too. I have no doubt of it."  
"I hope you're right, even though I hate to think it."  
"I know she would have. Anyone would, if they had a chance."  
"I suppose you would have, too?"  
"No doubt of it! And I would have twisted the knife in him!"  
"No, you would not!"  
"Yes, I would! And I'm not going to argue with you any more. Mireille, you are the best friend I have ever had, and words cannot say how extremely grateful I am to you." The two girls held each other for a long time. Then Elisa said, "It's late, and I don't know about you, but I'm very tired."  
"I'm tired, too, but I'm afraid to sleep. I know I'll have nightmares."  
"I will comfort you if you have nightmares, just as I did on Corsica, never fear."  
Mireille nodded. "Thank you. Believe me, I am very grateful for your friendship, too, Elisa. I just wish I were a better person."  
"But you are! Don't ever believe you're not."  
"i hope you're right." Mireille shook her head and sighed. "Do you mind if I read for a while?"  
"Of course not. I think I'll read, too."  
Mireille reached for her volume of Herodotus, but Elisa gave her the popular romance Paul et Virginie instead. "Mireille, I think this is just the thing for you now. It will relax your mind. Herodotus can wait."  
"I don't read Herodotus just for pleasure, you know, even though it's true I enjoy reading him. I have reason to believe that Herodotus gives clues to the secret behind the Montglane Service, and that's what I'm looking for."  
"I know how important it is to you, to solve the formula. But you've waited all this time, and you can wait a few days more. It's more important to put your mind at ease. And this book is just the thing for it."  
"Very well. I will take your advice." And so the two girls read until they fell asleep. That night, for the first time since she had killed Marat, Mireille slept well.


	4. Trouble at the Jacobin Club

Chapter 4: Trouble at the Jacobin Club

Mireille was awakened by the two children, Caroline and Jerome, running into her and Elisa's room. Elisa was already up and dressed. "Mireille, come play with us!" they shouted. They dragged her out of bed and into the parlor, before she had time to change out of her nightclothes. Then they pranced around her. "Mireille, our hero!" shouted Caroline.  
"Mireille killed the monster!" yelled Jerome. "Stabbed him in the bathtub! Yes!" Mireille turned white and swallowed back tears.  
Elisa came into the room with a smile on her face. "You have two hero-worshippers, I see," she said. She gently tore the children away from Mireille and gave her a hug. "Don't be upset," she told her. "They're only children. They don't know any better."  
"I understand," said Mireille. To the children, she said, "Let me get dressed, and we can play later."  
"Yes!" they yelled. "Our Mireille!"  
After she got dressed, Mireille played with the children until the family sat down to breakfast. To her surprise, she found she enjoyed it. Until now, she had never felt entirely comfortable around children, except for her own son. She remembered when she and Valentine used to walk in the Pyrenees and into the little mountain villages near Montglane. Valentine had made friends with all the children in the villages, but Mireille had always kept herself at a distance. But now she felt happy with the two Bonaparte children, as if she had a little sister and brother. She looked forward to playing with her son, when he got to be Jerome's age. But then it hit her. Her son had a murderer for a mother. What child deserved that? She knew what Elisa had told her the night before was right, and she shouldn't feel the way she did, but her guilt had not gone away. She didn't think it ever would. All she could do was learn to live with herself, however difficult it would be.  
Soon the family sat down to a breakfast of omelets and croissants. Joseph had joined them, after spending a late night with the Clary family. The others had told him about Marat, and he was very proud of Mireille. Napoleon seemed in a hurry. "Don't mind him," Joseph said to Mireille. "He always eats quickly, and never lingers over meals. If Maman weren't here, he would have left the table after ten minutes! I'm sure he wants to see Désirée as soon as possible." Mireille nodded. Napoleon had been like that on Corsica, before he had even met Désirée. Whether he had been in pursuit of his sweetheart there, or whether he had been anxious to join his regiment, Mireille didn't know. She supposed it was just his nature, to eat quickly.  
Letizia had seen Mireille playing with the children, and smiled at her in approval. "Mireille, I hope you don't mind my asking you a huge favor, but while you're here, however long that is--and you're welcome to stay as long as you want, of course--would you mind helping the children with their lessons? Their education has been sadly neglected, and you are a young woman of great intelligence. So is Elisa, of course, and she does her best to help them, but I see they look up to you in a way they don't look up to their own sister. I would understand if I'm asking too much."  
"No, it's not too much at all," said Mireille. "I would be glad to help them with their lessons." And it would distract her mind from what she'd done, she thought.  
And so, over the next week, Mireille helped Caroline and Jerome with their lessons, and even Louis and Pauline who, even though they were fifteen and thirteen, were very ignorant for their age. Caroline and Jerome were quick to learn, she noticed, even though they kept asking her to tell them about what it was like to kill Marat, and they didn't understand when she didn't want to say much about it. Louis was rather a slow learner. He did have a taste for poetry, but not much else. And all Pauline wanted was for Mireille to write her love letters for her. "Oh, you write so much better than Elisa!" she exclaimed. "And you know what it's like to be with a man. Elisa doesn't."  
"Not true. Elisa has Felix, and he's a very fine man."  
"No, I mean you know what it's like to lie with a man. Do I have to say it any more clearly? Elisa hasn't done that yet, even with Felix," Pauline giggled.  
"Actually, I only spent one night with a man, and I don't remember much about it. I was too distraught over Valentine's death."  
"But you enjoyed it, I know."  
"Oh, yes, very much." But, even though she didn't let Pauline know it, it broke Mireille's heart to spend time with her. Very often she, Elisa, and Pauline would spend the days taking walks by the docks, watching the sun sparkle on the sea, and Pauline would flirt with every man in sight. Just like Valentine used to do, thought Mireille. Although they were very different in appearance, Pauline and Valentine were so alike in spirit. Mireille wondered if they would have become close, if they'd known each other, the way she and Elisa had, and tears came to her eyes when she thought of it.  
But Pauline didn't understand. "You don't like me much, do you?" she asked Mireille.  
Mireille was startled. "What gave you that impression? I like you very much. It's just that you remind me of my cousin."  
"Valentine? The one who was murdered?"  
"Yes. She was so much like you. Full of life, and she loved to flirt with every man she saw." Mireille burst into tears.  
Pauline put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry! I know you loved her more than anyone in the world, and you still miss her terribly. But you avenged her death."  
"Yes, as Elisa always reminds me. Valentine's spirit is at rest now. It doesn't make me feel any better about what I did, though."  
Pauline shook her head, not able to understand why Mireille felt bad about ridding the world of the monster who had killed her beloved cousin.  
Mireille also had long talks with Joseph, when he wasn't with his sweetheart Julie Clary. He was always kind to her, and he understood what she was going through, after his experiences in battle, even though he didn't like to talk about it any more than Mireille liked to talk about what she had done.  
During her stay with the Bonapartes, she found herself spending more and more time with Lucien. When she wasn't with Elisa and the children, Lucien escorted her around the city, and they often stood together, looking out over the sparkling waters of the Bay of Marseille, as he pointed out the islands of the Frioul Archipelago to her. There were four islands in the archipelago, and on one of them stood the forbidding fortress of the Château d'If. He told her that prisoners had been locked away there for years, never to be seen again. Mireille shuddered at the sight of it, then began thinking that she deserved to be in such a place. But when she expressed ber thoughts to Lucien, he told her she was being silly.  
Hesitantly at first, he asked her to read his play about Charlemagne, which she did. She enjoyed it very much, and offered him her advice on it, which he was glad to take. They also found themselves reading the plays of Corneille and Racine together, in the volume Elisa had bought at the bookseller's stand the day they had run into each other, but they only read the comedies. Mireille felt she couldn't handle the tragedies yet.  
Slowly she began to wonder if she had feelings for him. She had always known how he felt about her, but she had been in love with Talleyrand. But it had been almost a year since she had seen Talleyrand, and he was far away, in England. Mireille meant to go there as soon as she could, because he didn't know of the danger Catherine Grand, the White Queen, posed to him. But she didn't fully understand that herself. What if the worst happened, and the White Queen got to Talleyrand before Mireille could? Her son, Charlot, would be without a father, and would have a murderer for a mother. What kind of life would that be? Lucien was good to his younger siblings, Mireille noticed. He would be an excellent father to Charlot, if anything happened to Talleyrand.  
Deep down inside her, Mireille knew she wanted what Elisa had with Felix, and what Joseph and Napoleon had with their sweethearts, Julie and Désirée, and she knew that was not what she had with Talleyrand. For as long as she'd known him, she'd thought he was in love with Valentine, not her, and then, the one night they'd spent together, she was too much in shock after Valentine's death to know how she truly felt, or even remember much. And here was Lucien, who loved her just as Felix loved Elisa. But could she return his feelings? Mireille was beginning to think she could. And if she did? Wouldn't that be a betrayal of Talleyrand? She shook her head, confused by all the feelings trapped inside her. She and Lucien held hands as they walked back to the house one night, and she noticed Elisa smiling at her in approval. Elisa wanted her and Lucien to become sweethearts, and probably more one day, she knew. But what would Talleyrand think if she married another man?  
The next morning at breakfast, Lucien received a message. His face turned pale as he read it. "It's from my friend Laplace from the Jacobin Club," he told the others. "He says, 'Come to the Jacobin Club meeting this afternoon. It's urgent.'"  
"But you were expelled from the Jacobin Club! And so was he," said Elisa.  
"There's more," said Lucien. "Laplace has been reinstated. He thinks I may be, too. But I have to come today, or be expelled forever, not just from the Jacobin Club of Marseille, but any Jacobin Club anywhere."  
"And so what if you are? Who needs them? They made a hero of Marat, after all," Elisa said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.  
"Not all of them did. A lot of them hate him just as much as we do. And I happen to believe in liberty, equality, and fraternity. I have many friends in the Jacobin Club, and I would hate to be expelled for life."  
"Have it your way," Elisa groaned. "But be careful. You could be walking into danger."  
"I've come prepared for that," said Lucien, drawing a pistol from his pocket.  
"Lucien! Put that thing away!" said Elisa. "I don't want it going off in your pocket. You could give yourself a terrible wound."  
"Oh, I'm much more careful with it than that, as you should know."  
When it came time for him to leave, Lucien gave Elisa a kiss on the cheek. She returned his kiss, and held both his hands in hers. "Please be careful, Lucien. I'd hate to lose my favorite brother," Elisa told him.  
"Don't be so dramatic! Nothing like that will happen to me." Then he turned to Mireille, and kissed her on the lips.  
To her surprise, she felt all warm inside, but still all she could do was kiss him on the cheek. "Be careful. I know even less than Elisa about what goes on at the Jacobin Club, but if you're among Marat's supporters, I'm afraid for you."  
"My friends will be there, too."  
Then a horrifying thought came to Mireille. "What if they know about me? We've been seen together, all over the city. You could be in terrible danger." She shuddered, realizing for the first time what danger she might have placed him in.  
"They know absolutely nothing about you. As far as they know, it was Charlotte Corday who killed Marat. We've been looking at all the newspapers, after all. None of them say a thing about you."  
"That could change!" Mireille exclaimed. "Robespierre knows, and so does my uncle Jacques-Louis David. What's to keep them from telling the whole Jacobin Club?"  
"Well, if they haven't by now, they never will, I'm sure."  
"I only hope you're right." Mireille held his hand for a long time before he took his leave.  
Lucien was away for hours. At first the family wasn't too alarmed. After all, meetings of the Jacobin Club tended to be long. But, when it got to be late at night and Lucien still hadn't come home, Elisa became frantic. She paced up and down the room, often running her hands through her hair in frustration. "Where could he be?" she kept saying. "Lucien never stays away this long!"  
Mireille was sitting at the table giving a lesson to Louis, who had actually started paying attention, as he never had with Elisa. She hadn't been as worried as Elisa until now. She remembered her uncle Jacques-Louis spending a long time at meetings of the Jacobin Club in Paris. It hadn't been unusual for him to come home late at night. But Elisa shook her head when Mireille pointed this out to her. "No, he never stays this late. Never!"  
Louis chimed in, "Perhaps he's out getting drunk with his friends."  
"Not Lucien! He never does things like that."  
"I wouldn't be so sure. Perhaps your dear Lucien is not as perfect as you think."  
Napoleon, who had been listening to the conversation, added, "He's a young man, after all. And young men like to drink."  
"Well, of course he enjoys a glass of wine now and then. Everyone does. But he doesn't go out to the taverns to get drunk," said Elisa.  
"Perhaps after what he's been through lately, he decided just this once to get drunk. Just like a certain friend of yours when she first arrived in Marseille." Napoleon smiled at Mireille, who felt embarrassed that Napoleon had noticed she had been drinking that day.  
"That's true, you know," said Mireille. "He will be back in the morning, I'm sure of it."  
But he didn't come back in the morning, or all the next day. Elisa was about to tear her hair out, she was so frightened. And by this time, everyone else was worried, too. Letizia was just as frantic as Elisa, even though she hid it better. "What could have happened to him? Perhaps one of you should go to the Jacobin club and find out?" she asked, looking at Joseph and Napoleon.  
"Yes, Maman, we will go at once," said Napoleon.  
An hour or so later, he and Joseph came back, and from the looks on their faces everyone knew things had not gone well. Napoleon said, "It's terrible news! Lucien's been kidnapped!"  
Letizia and Elisa grew white as a sheet from shock. "Kidnapped!" exclaimed Letizia. "What? How?"  
"Someone set an ambush for him. You see, he never was reinstated at the Jacobin Club. That note was sent to lure him there. The only people present at the club were Marat's supporters. As soon as Lucien arrived, three men in masks and black cloaks came out of the corners and hauled him off. There was an uproar, and in the confusion no one actually saw where they took him."  
"No!" exclaimed Elisa. "What could they have done with him?" Tears poured from her eyes. Mireille put an arm around her, trying to comfort her.  
"Didn't he fight back?" asked Louis. "He had his pistol with him."  
"One of the men took the pistol out of his pocket before Lucien even noticed."  
"Didn't anyone see in which direction they went?" asked Mireille. Although she tried to keep calm so she wouldn't upset Elisa, the news of Lucien's kidnapping had hit her hard. She knew now that she had feelings for him. What those feelings were, she couldn't say. But she was determined to find him, and not just for Elisa's sake.  
"Not that I know of. Everything was in chaos at the club."  
Elisa had a thought. "What about his friend Laplace, who sent him the note? What does he have to say? Could he be one of the kidnappers? I trusted him more than that! I always thought he was a good man."  
"I didn't see Laplace there. But think you will find the note was not really from him."  
"Well, I'm going to find out!"  
"So will I," added Mireille. "Let's go find this Laplace and see what he has to say."  
Elisa nodded. "Yes, Mireille. You and I can go together."  
"I'll go with you. Two girls shouldn't be going out on their own."  
Elisa rolled her eyes. "Since when? Mireille and I rescued the White King of the Montglane Service on our own. And Mireille killed Marat on her own. We will find Lucien, without any help from you! You'll see!"  
"All that is true, of course. But two girls, among rough men..."  
Letizia interrupted her favorite son. "Napoleon, I think Elisa is right this time. She and Mireille are more than capable of finding him, as they've shown before."  
"Oh, very well. But if you find you need help from a man..."  
"We won't!" said Elisa. "Come on, Mireille. Let's find out what Laplace has to say for himself."  
They set off through the city, towards the docks, where Mireille had gotten off the ship from Paris. Soon she noticed Elisa was leading her towards the very same inn she had visited that day, where she had drunk the strong wine and read the newspapers about Marat's death. "Elisa, why are you taking me here?" she asked.  
"This is Laplace's inn. Didn't I tell you he's an innkeeper?"  
"No, you didn't." Mireille felt butterflies turning in her stomach. So the innkeeper had been a Jacobin. She wondered if he had noticed her reaction to reading the newspaper accounts of Marat's assassination. Could he have possibly guessed the truth? "Elisa, this is the inn where I went when I got off the ship. He will remember me!"  
"I'd forgotten about that!" Elisa slapped her forehead. "How stupid I am. I was so upset about Lucien, I wasn't thinking straight. But he will be glad to see you, I'm sure. If he's as good as man as I thought he was, of course. Now I have my doubts about that. But let's go and see."  
They went into the inn, and Laplace came towards them with a smile on his face. "Citoyenne Bonaparte! What a pleasure to see you again," he said. "And your friend, too." He looked at Mireille. "You're the young woman who got off the ship from Paris and asked to see the newspapers about Marat's assassination, aren't you? I didn't know you were a friend of Citoyenne Bonaparte."  
"Yes, this is my good friend Mireille de Remy," said Elisa. "She's like another sister to me, and to all my family. Citoyen Laplace, we need your help. Lucien's been kidnapped!"  
"Kidnapped?" Laplace's face turned red. "When? How?"  
"At the Jacobin Club yesterday. You sent him a note saying he was urgently needed at the Jacobin Club. You'd been reinstated, and you said he might be, too. But there was great danger from Marat's supporters. Well, three men in masks and cloaks jumped out of the corners and kidnapped him! They'd obviously set a trap for him. Napoleon doesn't think the note was really from you, though. Was it?"  
Laplace shook his head. "It wasn't. No, I wasn't at the Jacobin Club yesterday. May I see the note?"  
Elisa showed it to him, and Laplace shook his head. "That's not my handwriting, even though I admit it's very similar, and Lucien could have mistaken it. Anyway, I have not been reinstated. Not after I said Marat deserved what he got. I believe you're of my opinion, Citoyenne?" he asked Mireille.  
She turned pale, and could only mutter, "Yes, of course."  
"It's not a popular opinion in some quarters here, but I'll say it to you." He whispered so only the two girls could hear. "Charlotte Corday was a hero."  
Yes, she was, but not for the reason you think, Mireille thought, but all she managed to say was, "Yes. I think so, too."  
Elisa whispered, "Since you really are Lucien's friend, I'll tell you now, as long as you promise not to repeat it to anyone, and I'm sure you won't. It's Mireille who's the hero."  
"You can't mean..."  
"Yes, she was the one who killed Marat."  
"Elisa!" Mireille exclaimed. "No! How could you?"  
Laplace gaped in astonishment. "Well, how can that be?"  
"She and Charlotte Corday looked very much alike, and they traded places when Mireille was about to go to the guillotine."  
Laplace's eyes lit up in admiration and he said, "I never thought I'd actually meet the person who rid the world of such a monster. You are a true hero. When the world comes to its senses, everyone will realize it. May I kiss your hand?"  
Very reluctantly, Mireille allowed him to kiss her hand, but she turned on Elisa. "Elisa, you are not to go around telling everyone I killed Marat!"  
"And why shouldn't I? I'm very proud of you."  
"It's very dangerous! If the wrong people found out, I could go to the guillotine."  
"But Laplace is on our side. And we're alone in here. I don't think anyone else could have heard."  
"One of these days, the wrong person will hear! Too many people know already."  
"Don't worry, I won't say it in front of anyone who might be an enemy."  
"But we don't know who all our enemies are. What about the men who kidnapped Lucien? Who could they be, and where could they have taken him? Citoyen Laplace, do you have any idea?"  
"No, I don't. I wasn't there, remember?"  
"But you must have some idea how we can find out," said Elisa.  
"Don't most kidnappers ask for ransom?" asked Laplace.  
"Yes, but these are unusual times. They could have killed him, without bothering to ask for ransom."  
"I would ask at the Jacobin Club, but, as two unescorted women, I doubt you will be welcome there. I would go with you, but, as you know, I've been expelled."  
"My brothers went there already, and no one knew anything. It was such chaos there, no one saw where they took him."  
"Then I suggest you wait for a ransom note. If none arrives within a few days, come back, and we will think of something together."  
"Thank you, Citoyen Laplace. We will do that," said Elisa.  
Laplace nodded. "And I hope you find him soon. He is a fine young man, and I'm glad to call him my friend." Turning to Mireille, he said, "It has been my great pleasure to meet you." In a whisper, Laplace added, "And I promise I'll keep your secret."  
"Thank you. I wish you hadn't found out." Mireille looked angrily at Elisa. "But now that you know, I'm glad of your support."  
The two girls walked back without saying a word to each other. When they got home, Mireille turned on her friend. "Elisa, why did you tell him? You might have put me in danger!"  
"How many times do I have to say this? I'm proud of you."  
"I'm not proud of myself, as you know. And you can't go around putting my life in danger. Promise not to say another word about it, to anyone outside the family."  
Elisa nodded.. "I promise. And I'm sorry I talked about it. I was just so proud of you, I couldn't help it, and I wasn't thinking how you would feel, much less that it would put you in danger. Let's not quarrel, Mireille. Will you forgive me?"  
"Of course." And the two girls embraced, glad their quarrel had not been too serious.


	5. A Coded Message

Chapter 5: A Coded Message

The next day, as the family was sitting around the breakfast table, two notes arrived: one for Letizia, and one for Mireille. Letizia's hands shook as she broke the seal on the first note, which read:  
"Citoyenne Bonaparte,  
"We have your son. We are holding him on the island of Ratonneau. If you don't pay us 100,000 francs within a week, we will slit his throat."  
The whole family turned pale with shock. Letizia gasped, and held her hand to her mouth as she exclaimed, "Oh, Lucien! My poor boy!"  
"100,000 francs? How are we ever going to come up with that much?" asked Napoleon. "We've always been poor, and whatever money we had on Corsica is gone now."  
"Perhaps I could borrow the money from Citoyen Clary," suggested Joseph. The father of Julie and Désirée was very wealthy, as they all knew.  
"No, you are not to run up any more debt," said Napoleon.  
"But to save Lucien!" Joseph shook his head. "We should never have let him go. I should have tried harder to talk him out of it."  
"But he was determined. And how were we to know?"  
"We couldn't, of course. Let's go to Citoyen Clary and see what he can do."  
"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea," said Napoleon. "It's not just because of the debt we'd run up. Haven't you noticed Citoyen Clary doesn't like us much? He thinks we're not good enough for his daughters. Haven't you heard him muttering behind our backs, about us being Corsican adventurers? If we go asking him for such a large amount, he will never let us marry his daughters."  
"I suppose you're right," said Joseph. "But can you think of a better plan?"  
"Perhaps I could help," said Mireille. For the first time in her life, she realized she was a wealthy woman. The de Remy fortune, which should have gone to Valentine, was now hers after Valentine's death. The Abbess had reminded her of that fact in a letter she had received soon after she had come back to Paris from the desert--just a few days before she killed Marat. But things had moved so quickly, and after that horrific night, the fact of her recent wealth had been far from her mind.  
"You?" asked Napoleon. "I know how brave you are, of course, but you have no obligation to us."  
"But I do! You said yourself, I'm practically part of your family. Don't all of you agree?" They all nodded. "And I care for Lucien. I still don't know if I care for him in the way you want," she looked at Elisa. "But I certainly do care for him, and I want to save his life. I think I may be able to. You see, please forgive me for not thinking of this sooner, but I own a considerable fortune now."  
"You always told me you were poor," said Elisa. "Not that this isn't welcome news, of course, but have you been hiding the fact you're wealthy?"  
"Not intentionally, of course. But I'd forgotten," said Mireille, hoping she and Elisa wouldn't quarrel again, especially with Lucien's life in danger.  
"How can you forget being rich?"  
"It happened so suddenly, and I've had so much on my mind. As I told you, Elisa, Valentine was the heir to a large fortune and estate, which belonged to her grandfather. My father was a poor younger son, as I said, and he had nothing to inherit. It was all to go to Valentine, as the daughter of the elder son. But when Valentine died, there was no one left but me to inherit it. The Abbess told me in a letter, that I'd inherited the fortune, but it arrived just a few days before I killed Marat, and after that... well, I had too much on my mind to think of it again, until now."  
"I understand," said Elisa. "Oh, Mireille, it would be wonderful if you could help us, and save Lucien! Where is your fortune now? In Paris, I suppose."  
"No, the Abbess set up a bank account for me in London. She assumed I was going there to find Talleyrand."  
Elisa's face fell. "So you'd have to go to London to get the money."  
Mireille realized what she meant. "Oh, I see. And it would be impossible for me to go to London and back in a week." Tears came to her eyes. "All that money, and I can't use any of it to help Lucien!" A thought came to her mind. "Would they accept a promise of some sort? Perhaps I can sell what little jewelry I have, and give them the money from that, with a promise that the rest will come, as soon as I can get back from London?"  
Napoleon shook his head. "These are rough and violent men. There's no guarantee they will accept a promise like that. At least you tried, Mireille, and I'm grateful for it. But we're no closer to saving Lucien."  
"But what does my note say?" asked Mireille. "I should open it now. Perhaps it has further instructions." She broke the seal on her note and frowned. "It's in code."  
Elisa looked over her shoulder at the jumble of letters. "How will we figure that out? It could take us a week or more, and then we'll be too late."  
"No, it won't! I'm going to try to figure it out now." Mireille's mind went to work, and she began writing down letters in the blank space on the paper. Soon enough, she rolled her eyes. "I've got it! Oh, I can't believe how easy this is! These kidnappers must be dumb, to use such an easy code."  
Elisa frowned. "It doesn't look easy at all to me. I can't understand a thing."  
"It's a substitution cipher. They're substituting one letter of the alphabet for another. One of the easiest codes in the world. I believe it was first used by Julius Caesar's armies, but codes have become much more sophisticated since then. Only someone who's very inexperienced in writing codes would use it now. So it was easy for me to figure out how they've done it. They're substituting each letter for the one eight places down the alphabet. So A, the first letter, becomes I, the ninth letter, B becomes J, and so on."   
"Mireille, you're amazing! I don't know how you figured that out. And you say that's easy?"  
"Once you learn about these things, it is." Mireille quickly began transcribing the message:  
"Citoyenne de Remy,  
"We are on the island of Ratonneau. We have something very valuable to you, and we don't mean Citoyen Bonaparte. If you can't give us the money we asked Citoyenne Bonaparte for, within a week, come prepared to bargain. You choose, Citoyen Bonaparte or the other thing that's valuable to you. We will release one, but not the other."  
Mireille wrinkled her brow. "There are still two lines I haven't deciphered, one of them all in capitals. They must be using a different code for those. Could they be smarter than I think?" She went to work again, and a short while later, she exclaimed, "No, they're dumb! They're just doing it the opposite way. They're going eight places up the alphabet instead of down: I becomes A, and J becomes B, and so on." She transcribed the last two lines, and shuddered:  
"Bring the eighth child with you.  
"WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID."  
She shuddered and turned white as a sheet. "Does everyone know I killed Marat?" Then she turned on Elisa. "Thanks to your loose tongue, they do!"  
"I didn't say a thing to anyone except us and Laplace. And Désirée, of course, but I trust her completely. How could these kidnappers know?"  
Mireille shook her head. "I'm sorry, Elisa. I didn't mean to blame you. I'm just too upset to think straight. I don't know how they know, but obviously they do. And it worries me. How could they have found out? I know you didn't tell anyone else, and when you told Laplace, Lucien had already been kidnapped. If I knew how they found out, I might be able to figure out who they are."  
"Well, who else knows you killed Marat?"  
Mireille thought for a while. "Robespierre knows, that devil! When Charlotte Corday visited me in prison, she told me that. She found out when she was in my uncle Jacques-Louis David's studio, looking for painter's clothes to disguise herself in while she visited me. She heard him talking to my uncle. So obviously my uncle knows, too. And he was a big supporter of Marat, as you know. I'm afraid he's turned against me now. The only relative I have! Even though he's such a coward, it hurts, very much."  
Elisa held her in her arms. "I'm so sorry, Mireille. And how did Robespierre find out?"  
"I wish I knew! Charlotte didn't have time to tell me. It might have been something I said at my trial, but I don't think I gave anything away, to say I wasn't Charlotte, because all the newspapers said Charlotte killed Marat. So how could Robespierre have known? Unless he saw my birthmark." She pointed at the figure 8 on the palm of her right hand. "That could be. He's in the Game, of course, so he knows what it means."  
"Yes, that could very well be. So if Robespierre and your uncle know, who else knows?"  
"I have no idea. Certainly no one who could have put it in the newspapers, because they don't mention me. But Robespierre and my uncle have so many friends in the Jacobin Club, they could have told anyone. There's no way to know." Then the truth hit her: "These people must be in the Game! The cipher subsitutes one letter for the one eight places away. Oh, Elisa, these people are more dangerous than we ever thought!" Her face fell. "Don't you see? Lucien was kidnapped because of me. I'm sure that the other thing they have that's valuable to me is a piece of the Montglane Service, or several pieces. I don't know how they got them. I'd have to know more about them to know that. But they took Lucien so they could bargain with me. If I don't do what they want--let them keep the pieces, that is--they'll kill him, or they'll have me sent to the guillotine."  
"What are we going to do?"  
"Rescue him, of course. I know where the island of Ratonneau is. It's one of the islands in the Frioul archipelago that Lucien pointed out to me." Then Mireille's face fell. "I just remembered. It's right next to the Château d'If."  
"That fortress that no one ever escapes from?"  
"Yes. But at least they're not holding him there."  
"Not yet," said Elisa. "Oh, Mireille, how can we rescue him?"  
"We'll go there and try to bargain with the kidnappers. You know what they want from me."  
"But what if you don't do what they say?"  
"We'll think of that when the time comes. I promise all of you, I will not let them kill Lucien. Even if I have to go to the guillotine for it."  
"But I'm not letting them send you to the guillotine! Isn't there a way to save both yourself and Lucien?"  
"I hope so, Elisa. We've got to try."  
Elisa looked at the message again. "And what do they mean by 'Bring the eighth child with you?'"  
"The eighth child! That's me!" shouted Jerome, his eyes bulging with excitement. "They want me to come with you, Mireille!"  
"No, I think they mean me," said Elisa. "You see, Jerome, Maman and Papa had four babies who died, all born before me. So even though I'm the fourth child now, if you count the babies I never knew, I'm the eighth."  
"So I'm really the twelfth?" asked Jerome, looking disappointed.  
"That's right." Elisa thought for a moment. "So that means these people know about the babies who died. They must know our family history very well. So who can they be?"  
"I can think of a few possibilites," said Mireille. "They could be from Corsica. Your family has a lot of enemies there. We defeated those bandits in the cave when we rescued the White King, but they could have regained their strength. Or it could be other enemies of yours."  
"That could be. Everyone on Corsica, friend or enemy, knows each other. Any Corsican would know our history," Elisa agreed.  
"Or it might be people from the Jacobin Club. Lucien might have talked about his family history. And if they're Jacobins, they might have learned from Robespierre or David that I killed Marat."  
"Yes, that could be, too."  
"That's the most frightening possibility to me," said Mireille, her voice filled with sadness. "If they found out through the Jacobin Club, who knows how many people know I killed Marat? Perhaps every Jacobin in France knows by now! My life could be in danger as long as I stay in France."  
"But you're going back to the desert, and then to England, aren't you?"  
"Not until we rescue Lucien. I won't even think about leaving until we do. Even if my life is in danger."  
Elisa squeezed Mireille's hand. "Thank you, Mireille. You're the best friend in the world. But I hate to think of your life being in such danger."  
"That's what happens when you kill a man. It's not as heroic as you think."  
"We'll come up with a plan tonight on how to save him," said Elisa, and Mireille nodded in agreement.  
The others had been listening to their conversation without saying anything, but soon Napoleon said, "You can't do this without a man."  
"Oh, yes we can! We can do anything we like without a man!" shouted Elisa.  
"But women are fragile. They need men to protect them. And you also need a man to help you come up with your rescue plan. Don't you know that men's brains are larger than women's?"  
"That's not true!"  
"Yes, it is. It's been scientifically proven."  
"Well, even if men's brains are larger, I'm sure women use more of theirs!"  
"Stop it, you two!" Letizia interrupted her children. "I can't have you quarreling when your brother is in danger."  
"I'm sorry, Maman. But I'm sure you agree with me," said Elisa.  
"I don't know anything about the size of people's brains. But I do know that you and Mireille are more than capable of acting on your own. You proved that on Corsica."  
"So we have your permission to rescue Lucien without any help from Napoleon or Joseph?"  
"Yes, you do. And it seems clear to me that it's you and Mireille that the kidnappers want to bargain with. No one else. Who knows, it could ruin things if you bring someone else."  
"Thank you, Maman. We will rescue him, I promise."  
That night, in their bedroom, the girls came up with their plan. "So, we're going into danger again, just you and I," said Elisa.  
"Danger seems to follow us wherever we go," Mireille agreed. "It's all part of this Game."  
"What should we do? We don't have our swords any more. We left them on Corsica."  
"Don't worry. I always go armed now," said Mireille. She pulled up her skirts and showed Elisa a knife strapped to her leg.  
Elisa gasped. "Mireille! Is that...?"  
"The knife that killed Marat? Yes."  
"You mean, you've had it all this time?" Elisa's eyes bulged in astonishment.  
"Yes, Charlotte gave it to me when we traded places in prison. It was in with the paints and brushes she took from my uncle's studio, as part of her painter's disguise. I didn't even know it was there at first. Not until I was on the ship to Marseille, in fact. When I put the paints and brushes away, it was there."  
"But how did she get it?"  
"I'm not sure exactly. But she was waiting in the carriage outside Marat's house, the whole time I was with him. And things were in such chaos after I killed him, she was probably able to sneak into the house and get it, before anyone knew. That's my guess, anyway. I'll never know for certain. But I always wear it now as a sign of my guilt."  
"Mireille! How morbid."  
"Perhaps, but you know how I feel. It's not just that, though. My life is in such danger, I need to go armed everywhere I go now. But just to defend myself. I don't want to kill anyone ever again!"  
"It might come to that, though. What if you need to kill someone to rescue Lucien?"  
"I mean to fight to wound, not to kill, just like we did on Corsica."  
"But what if that doesn't work? It could even happen by accident."  
"I can only hope it doesn't happen."  
"Well, I would certainly kill to save Lucien."  
"Elisa, you say that now, but if you kill someone, it's going to weigh on your mind for the rest of your life. Would you like that?"  
"If it means saving Lucien, yes."  
"Oh, Elisa, I hope it never comes to that!"  
"But it might, and I'll think about it then."  
"I don't want you to suffer as I do."  
"I won't. These are evil men, whoever they are, and if I kill one, he deserves to die. And so did Marat, as you well know." She changed the subject. "I wonder who these men really are. And whoever they are, they're in the Game. On the White team, of course. How did they get these pieces they're holding with Lucien?"  
"I don't know for certain, but I might be able to guess. Marat told me, just before I killed him, that he had eight pieces instead of the five I thought he had. He got those five pieces from nuns of Montglane who were murdered by his friend the White Queen. But where did those other three pieces come from? Friends of his, perhaps? And I just told you about all the chaos in Marat's house after I killed him. If Charlotte could have gotten in to get the knife, these people could have come in and gotten those pieces. Perhaps the pieces were theirs in the first place, and they were just getting them back from him."  
"That means they were in Paris when you killed him."  
"Yes, it does. But I don't know that's what happened. I'm just guessing."  
"So they could be Parisian Jacobins who came to Marseille?"  
"They could be. That could explain how they know I killed Marat. Do you know if there are many Parisian Jacobins who attend the club here?"  
"Probably so. The Marseille Jacobin Club is the largest outside of Paris, and many visitors attend it. It could be they heard Lucien speak, and that's how they know about our family history."  
"That would explain a lot, if it were true." Mireille nodded. "But it's just an assumption, until we actually go there and come face to face with them. Let's see what we need to do. First of all, we need to get a knife for you."  
"That's easy enough. I can get one from the kitchen. Should we dress as boys again?"  
Mireille shook her head. "They know who we are, so we don't need a disguise. As much as I would like to dress as a boy again. It gives us so much more freedom. Now, let's see what else. We need to get a boat, to go out there."  
"We have a boat. It's only a small one, but it will do for the two of us. And for Lucien, when we rescue him."  
"And we need a boatman."  
"No, we don't. I can row."  
"I can't."  
"Don't worry about that. I can do it alone."  
"I don't want to make you do all the work."  
"If it's one of the islands we can see from the docks, it's not that far. I will do the rowing. And Lucien can row, too, so, if he is well, he can help to row on the way back."  
"But perhaps you can teach me."  
"Sometime, yes, but we can't delay any longer."  
"So, we'll have our knives, and we have a boat. What else? My bag, so we can bring the pieces back."  
"You plan to get both Lucien and the pieces, don't you?"  
"Of course."  
"Then you'll be breaking your word to them. You could put yourself in even more danger!"  
"I'm sure they won't keep their word to us, so why should we keep our word to them? No, I mean to defeat them, so Lucien and the pieces will be safe!"  
Elisa smiled. "That's what I like to hear."


	6. The Island Adventure

Chapter 6: The Island Adventure

The next morning, they prepared to leave, and said their farewells to the family. Felix had come to see Elisa off, and they gave each other a long kiss before parting. Napoleon tried to convince them once again that a man should come along, but they dismissed his objections. Then they walked to the docks and found their boat. It was small and flimsy, and Mireille hoped it would hold up. "No, our boat is stronger than you think," said Elisa. They untied the boat, Elisa took the oars, and they set off.  
Mireille pointed out the island of Ratonneau. They saw the fortress of the Château d'If looming ahead of them, looking more and more forbidding as they got closer. "Oh, I hope they didn't take Lucien there!" said Elisa.  
"We have no reason to think they did. From what they said, Lucien is on Ratonneau with them."  
"But if we don't keep our word to them, they could easily take him there. Or even kill him." Elisa shuddered.  
"If things go according to plan, they'll be too stunned to do anything to him."  
"I hope you're right."  
It was a beautiful day, and the water was smooth, so the journey to Ratonneau was an easy one. The sun sparkled on the water as they arrived. But when they found the beach and pulled up the boat, Elisa's face fell in dismay. "There's no other boat here. So where are they? Oh, Mireille, what if they took him to the Château d'If?" Now that they were on the island, the nearby fortress looked gigantic.  
"This isn't the only beach on the island, is it?"  
"I don't know. I've never been here before."  
"Well, there must be one on the other side. I don't see any sign of them at all. No footprints, or anything."  
"But it rained yesterday. Any footprints would be washed away."  
"That's true," said Mireille. "But look how open it is around here. There's no place to hide him. We have to get to the other side. Perhaps there's a cave there, where they're keeping him."  
"Well, let's start out again."  
Elisa started to walk back to their boat, but Mireille shook her head. "No, this island is small enough that we can walk to the other side. It's long, perhaps a mile or a little more, but it's narrow. I would guess only 500 yards or so. And if we walk, perhaps we'll see a cave."  
"That's a great thought, Mireille." And so they walked across to the other side of the island, examining their surroundings. As they reached the other side, they realized the ground was much rougher there. Sure enough, they saw a cliff, with a small beach at the foot of it--with a boat, slightly larger than theirs, pulled up on it.  
"Their boat!" exclaimed Mireille.  
"Yes, I see it, too."  
"Now, where could they be? They can't be too far from here." They walked around until they saw a cave hidden at the base of the cliff. "There! That's where they're keeping him."  
"How should we approach?" asked Elisa.  
"It's early afternoon. Perhaps they're sleepy after their midday meal, just like the bandits on Corsica. We should go in now. Quietly, of course. We want to take them by surprise."  
The girls tiptoed into the cave. Slowly they let their eyes adjust to the dark. At first they couldn't see much, but then, in a corner, they saw Lucien with a rope around his waist, and the other end of the rope tied to a hook on the wall of the cave. As they got closer, they saw his ankles and wrists were tied as well. And beside him were three glittering, jeweled chess pieces: two pawns, one gold and one silver, and one larger piece, a golden camel with a tower on its back. It was a Black Rook of the Montglane Service. They didn't see anyone else besides Lucien, so they ran up to him. "Lucien! Oh, Lucien!" they exclaimed.  
"Elisa? Mireille?" asked Lucien, his voice hoarse. "How did you get here?"  
Elisa covered her brother's face with kisses, and Mireille bent down to kiss him on the cheek. Her heart ached to see his handsome face covered with bruises. "They sent us a ransom note that said where you were, and we took the boat out here. But what have they done to you?" She stroked his bruise-covered cheeks.  
"They beat me up. But don't worry, I gave as good as I got. So you have the money to ransom me?"  
"Not now, but Mireille can get it. Don't you know she's rich?"  
Lucien shook his head. "No, no one ever told me."  
"It's Valentine's money. It became mine after her death, " said Mireille, swallowing back her tears. "But the Abbess set it up in an account in London, so I can't get it until I go there. I hope I can persuade them to accept my promise, though. If not," she lifted her skirts to show him her knife, "we'll fight them."  
Lucien gasped. "That can't be..."  
"The knife that killed Marat. Yes. No time to explain, though. Elisa knows the whole story, and if we succeed, we'll tell you later. So where are they now?"  
"Asleep after their midday meal, as you probably guessed. Over there." He nodded towards a spot deeper in the cave.  
"Let's untie you now," said Elisa.  
"Not so fast, Citoyenne Bonaparte," came a deep voice from the back of the cave. "We were awake to hear your little conversation." A shaggy-haired, thick-bearded man emerged, and the girls were astonished to see a familiar face: Caragone, the bandit chief from Corsica. Two rough-looking men, one dark-haired and one blond, with unfamiliar faces, followed him.  
"Well, well, Citoyenne de Remy," Caragone said to Mireille, "I'm sure you never expected to see me here. You were expecting Paris Jacobins, I imagine. Well, you have two of them here--my companions, Roger and Pierre--and myself."  
"But... but how did you get here? I thought you were still on Corsica. And how did you know..."  
"That you murdered Marat? Oh, I was there when it happened. I was one of the crowd outside the house."  
"How could that be? When, and why, did you leave Corsica? And how did you get those pieces?" Mireille nodded towards the glittering pieces next to Lucien.  
"It's a long story, but you're not going anywhere anytime soon, so I'll tell you. As I'm sure you've guessed, I am a player on the White team. That's how I knew all about you. I came to Paris to meet with Marat, to discuss the next move the White team should make. I expected to find him at the Jacobin Club, but I learned he was so ill, he never left his home and spent most of his time in his bathtub. Instead, I met these two men at the Jacobin Club," Caragone nodded to Roger and Pierre. "They're not players, but they know of the Game and are sympathetic to the White team, and willing to do what it takes to help us. They arranged for me to make an appointment to see Marat. How was I to know you'd get in there with your knife before I could see him? I was in a carriage waiting to go in, and I believe your friend Charlotte Corday was in the carriage just ahead of mine. And then you stabbed him, and everything was in chaos. I took advantage of the chaos to go into the house to look for the pieces Marat had. I found three of them. Later on I learned he had eight in all, so I have no idea what happened to the other five. Your friend Corday didn't happen to give them to you, did she?"  
Mireille shook her head.  
"No, that would be too good to be true, wouldn't it? But she did give you something else of value, something which you carry on your person at this moment? Oh, I heard you talking to Citoyen Bonaparte just now. Don't deny it."  
"Yes, I have the knife, and I'll fight you with it if I have to."  
"We will see about that. Anyway, I retrieved the pieces and showed them to my friends. The next day, we attended your trial."  
"And how did you know I wasn't Charlotte Corday?"  
"I saw the figure 8 on your hand, just like Robespierre did. Oh, I know Robespierre quite well, and your uncle Jacques-Louis David, too. Don't you know your dear uncle has turned against you?"  
"Yes, and I feel terrible about that. I feel terrible about a lot of things."  
"You feel remorse, do you? Little coward! Don't you know this is a deadly Game we're playing? There's no room for remorse. You've got to harden your heart, or you'll be dead! And one more thing: I heard you speak at your trial. I still remember what you said: 'I have killed one man to save a hundred thousand.' Why aren't you so bold now?"  
"I wasn't thinking straight, and I needed to say something in my defense. I also tried to think of what Charlotte would have said in my place. But what of it?"  
"Don't you remember, on Corsica, I recognized you because you have the accent of the Pyrenees? I heard it at your trial as well. Charlotte Corday was from Normandy. She would not have had that accent."  
Mireille's face fell. It was that simple! "How many others know I killed Marat?" she asked.  
Caragone said, "As yet, no one else besides those of us in this cave, whoever else you might have told--I imagine the whole Bonaparte family--and Robespierre and David. But that could change depending on how you behave yourself here. Let me tell the rest of my story first, though. I guessed everything that happened, that Charlotte Corday had taken your place at the guillotine, and you had gotten away. So I met with my friends to figure out where you might have gone. We talked to your uncle, and we found out you had been in the desert and had a child there. We figured you'd go back for him. And any ship going to Tripoli makes a stop in Marseille. We also knew your friends the Bonapartes were in Marseille, and you would most likely visit them. What better opportunity, than to kidnap Lucien, who we knew was fond of you, in order to get you in our power? And here you are. Everything has gone the way I expected. Now, shall we talk? What would you be willing to do to get Lucien back?"  
"If you heard our conversation, you'll know I have money. A lot of money, in fact. But it's all in London, so you'll have to wait for me to get it for you. I could give you something as a pledge, if you'd like."  
"I don't want your money. That ransom note was only to get you here."  
"What do you want, then?"  
"I want you to tell me where you hid the White King."  
"Never!"  
Caragone drew a knife from his belt and held it to Lucien's throat. Elisa let out a scream. Caragone's friend Roger held her mouth shut.  
"I will be very generous with you," said Caragone. "I will even let you have those three pieces. I must let you know, though, that I've written down the symbols on them, so I know that part of the formula. Now they're really of no more use to me. Again, I just mentioned them in my note as a temptation to get you here. No, it's the White King I really want."  
"And you'll never get it!"  
Caragone drew his knife closer to Lucien's throat, and Roger tightened his grip on Elisa.  
"You really don't have a choice, Citoyenne de Remy. Murderer of Marat. If you don't tell me, I'll slit your friend's throat. And as for this one," he pointed to Elisa. "We shall see."  
Mireille was filled with remorse, that she had brought Elisa into this situation. "Why did you insist I bring her with me? All that business about the eighth child?"  
Caragone laughed. "Oh, I knew your little friend would never let you go alone. And if I'm forced to cut Lucien's throat, I still have her to threaten, to get you to do what I say."  
"How did you even know she was the eighth child?"  
"My friends and I joined the Marseille Jacobin club as soon as we got there. We pretended we hated Marat and wanted to celebrate his death. Lucien was eager to make friends with us when he heard that, and soon we were sitting in his friend Laplace's inn, drinking, and he told us his whole life story. I also found a sample of Laplace's handwriting when I got the bill. It was very easy to imitate it, to lure Lucien to the Jacobin Club that day."  
"You think of everything, don't you?"  
"More or less. Now, what do you say, little murderer? Your friends, or the White King?"  
"Neither!" shouted Mireille, drawing her knife.  
"Ah, the knife that killed Marat. I should be honored to be killed with it, but I want to live, you see. And, unlike Marat, I'm armed. So if you're going to kill me, we'll have to fight first. At least it will be fair." He took his knife from Lucien's throat and went at her.  
"How dare you!" screamed Mireille. She lunged at him with her knife, but he parried the blow.  
"You'd rather kill a sick old man in his bathtub than a real fighter! Coward!"  
"I don't want to kill anyone! I didn't want to kill Marat, either. He forced me to." She lunged at him again, and landed a glancing blow on his arm. Drops of blood came out of the wound. Then Mireille turned away, sick to her stomach, and vomited. "No! Not the blood again!" she cried. "So much blood, it's everywhere!" Her mind went back to the night she killed Marat, and she saw all the blood, everywhere, on his chest, in the bathtub, on her dress... Before her eyes, she saw nothing but blood. She fell over, and when she tried to get up, she felt as if a huge weight were on top of her: the weight of her guilt.  
Caragone taunted her, "Oh, yes, your fear of the sight of blood. It's just a few drops this time, not like the torrent of blood you shed when you killed Marat! But still you're scared, aren't you? Little coward, little coward!"  
"My friend is not a coward!" shouted Elisa. She freed herself from Roger's grip, drew her knife, and plunged it deep into his shoulder. He doubled over in pain. Then the other man, Pierre, joined the fight. He and Elisa exchanged blows until Elisa slammed his head against the wall of the cave and he fell over, unconscious. Now, of their adversaries, only Caragone was left standing. Elisa faced him, and lunged at him with her knife.  
They exchanged blows for what seemed an eternity, neither gaining an advantage over the other, until Mireille stood up again. Dark spots danced before her eyes, but she was ready to join the fight. She landed a deep blow in Caragone's thigh, and he limped away, bleeding. Mireille felt another wave of nausea coming on, but fought it back. Then Elisa landed a blow on his shoulder blade, and he went down.  
"I can't get up again without help," he said. "Are you going to kill me when I'm down? Just like you killed Marat?" Caragone asked Mireille.  
"No, I will never kill anyone, ever again."  
"You said you'd never kill Marat, and look what happened."  
"I didn't know then, what it was, to kill a man. Now I know, and I never want to go through it again."  
"And you, Citoyenne Bonaparte? Are you going to kill me? Unlike your friend, you don't know what it's like to kill a man, and how it makes you feel afterwards."  
Elisa glowered at him. "You're right. So what's to keep me from killing you?"  
"Elisa, no!" said Mireille. "Don't do it! You'll hate yourself for the rest of your life! Do you really want that?"  
"But he's evil! He was going to kill Lucien."  
"And I still could. When my two friends are awake again. But I will bargain with you once more. You can take Lucien and the pieces with you, if you tell me where the White King is."  
"Absolutely not," said Mireille.  
"Little fool! I may be down, but I'm still dangerous. I could kill you right here." He held his knife to Mireille's throat.  
"Tell him, Mireille!" Lucien's voice came from his corner of the cave.  
"But the White King is one of the most powerful pieces. I can't let him have it."  
"He will kill me otherwise. Or they will."  
Mireille looked in Lucien's direction and saw that Roger and Pierre had already recovered and were standing over him with their knives. The wounds Elisa had given them had not been as serious as she had thought. Mireille took a deep breath. "Very well, I'll tell you. I see I don't have a choice." Briefly she thought of lying, but it was as if Caragone had read her mind.  
"And don't lie to me. Do you know what I'll do if I've found you lied? I will talk to Robespierre and I will make sure that every newspaper in France prints the name of Marat's true murderer. If you ever set foot in France again, you will immediately be sent to the guillotine."  
"I'm not planning on going to France anytime soon. I'm going to the desert, and then to England, where I plan to settle down with Talleyrand."  
"Oh, yes, your lover. But he never settles down, does he? It wouldn't surprise me if you find he's left England already. No, one of these days you'll want to go back to France. But you won't be able to, with the threat of the guillotine hanging over your head. You'll have to spend your whole life in exile. And once the news gets out, everyone will know you're a murderer. Who will welcome you then?"  
"They hate Marat in England. The people there are probably glad I killed him."  
"Ah, but England isn't called 'The White Land' for nothing. There are many White players there, who will wish to avenge his death."  
"Well, if I'm not welcome there, I'd even go to America."  
"And spend your whole life across the ocean? Far away from those pieces of yours?"  
"I'd take them with me. The ones I have, that is."  
"But there are many others in Europe. You'll never be able to get to them. You'll have lost the Game and we, the White Team, will have won!"  
"Mireille, tell him the truth," came Lucien's voice once again.  
She took a deep breath. "We buried it in the garden of the Bonapartes' house on Corsica."  
Caragone let out a triumphant laugh. "Of course! How simple! Why didn't I think of that myself! Well, believe it or not, I'll keep my word. Your friend can go." He nodded to his friends, who cut Lucien's ropes. Lucien ran to his sister and Mireille, who embraced him. The two henchmen brought Caragone to his feet and helped him out of the cave. As they left, Caragone turned back to them and said. "I hope you're telling the truth, Citoyenne de Remy. Remember what will happen if you aren't."  
As soon as their three adversaries were gone, Lucien gave Elisa a huge kiss on the cheek. Then he turned to Mireille. The two of them gave each other a long kiss on the lips, and Mireille felt something stir within her, something she hadn't felt since her night with Talleyrand. Elisa began to giggle. "You two!" she exclaimed. "We have to get going." Lucien smiled, and he and Mireille walked out of the cave, arm in arm.  
Elisa picked up the pieces of the Montglane Service, and they walked back to the other side of the island, where they'd left their boat. They noticed their adversaries had already taken the larger boat and were probably headed towards Corsica.  
"He's going to get the White King!" cried Mireille in distress.  
"Yes, he is. But you had no choice but to tell him," said Lucien. "He would have killed me otherwise. And I think I can prevent him from doing too much damage with it."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I can go back to Corsica and get it from him."  
"But your life is in danger if you ever go back to Corsica!"  
"I can go in disguise. Thanks to Elisa's theatricals, we have plenty of costumes in the house."  
"You still have to go home, get a disguise, and then see about taking a boat to Corsica. You'll never get there before him."  
"I don't want to get there before him. If I do, he'll think you lied to him, and carry out his threat. No, I mean for him to see you told him the truth. But I will be there, right behind him, and as soon as I have an opportune moment, I will take the White King from him, and put it in a safe place."  
"But, Lucien, you're not even in the Game. I'd hate to see you go to such risk."  
"I'd risk anything for you. Mireille, don't you know? I love you!"  
Elisa smiled, and squeezed her brother's hand.  
"Don't you love me, Mireille? After that kiss you gave me, I think you do."  
Mireille shook her head. "I don't know, Lucien."  
He looked crestfallen. "What do you mean, you don't know? Didn't you feel what passed between us? It was like a bolt of lightning to me."  
"I felt that, too, Lucien. Believe me, I did. But I felt the same for Talleyrand. Oh, Lucien, I'm so confused." She hung her head, and tears came to her eyes. "I don't know my own feelings. I don't know whether I love you, or Talleyrand, or both, or neither. I need some time. I have to sort out all my feelings."  
"After all that, are you rejecting me?"  
"No, not at all. But I have to go back to the desert for my son. You know that."  
"Mireille, I would love to meet your son. And I don't mind at all, bringing him up as my own, even though he's Talleyrand's."  
"I know. But I need to see Talleyrand again, too. His life is in danger from the White Queen. I won't know for certain how I feel about either of you, until I see him again."  
"So you want to choose between us? Well, I'm your age! And I've never loved anyone but you. He's an old man, and he's had many women. He's probably having other women right now, in London. He doesn't care if he's betraying you! I would never betray you, Mireille. I'd always be faithful to you."  
"I know that, Lucien. It's not you, it's me. Whenever I'm with Talleyrand, I feel powerfully drawn to him."  
"And you don't, with me?"  
"I do, but I feel like I shouldn't. I can't explain it. As I said, I'm so confused. I don't know how I feel now. I just need some time, and I think I'll know more, when I see Talleyrand again."  
"You'll know enough to reject me," said Lucien, crestfallen.  
"Perhaps not. Perhaps I'll decide I love you, not him. I just don't know yet."  
Lucien sighed. "Meanwhile, I will get the White King back from Caragone. I promise. Even if you don't love me, I'll do that for you."  
By this time, they had reached their boat. It was nearly evening. As Lucien rowed them back to the city, the sun was setting. Elisa put a hand on his shoulder. "Give her time, Lucien," she said. "Poor Mireille, she's been through so much. It's not just you that her feelings are confused about."  
"I know," said Lucien. "Mireille, I'm sorry. I'm not going to force you to love me if you don't."  
"Yes, I know that. You're a good man, Lucien. You deserve a better woman than me. Perhaps that's one reason for my confusion."  
"It shouldn't be. You're a very good person, Mireille. I know you don't realize it now, but you are."  
"How can I be, after what I've done?"  
"You wouldn't feel the way you do, if you weren't. You'd feel no remorse at all."  
"He's absolutely right, you know," said Elisa. Then she yawned. For the first time, the girls realized how tired they were.  
"Why don't you sleep for a while? I will be fine, rowing the boat. I'll wake you up when we reach the city," said Lucien.  
And so the girls fell asleep. Mireille was holding a pawn from the Montglane Service in each hand, and Elisa was holding the Black Rook. As she fell asleep, the pawns spoke to Mireille.  
"You're a murderer, and you always will be," said the White Pawn. "You deserve to go to the guillotine!"  
Mireille was about to agree, when the Black Pawn said, "Don't listen to him. You're a hero! Marat was a monster. You saved thousands of innocent lives. The nuns of Montglane, except for Valentine and those poor women who went to Caen and got killed, are alive today because of you. He was going to send them all to the guillotine just for being nuns, and for what they knew about the Montglane Service. You kept that from happening. They all owe their lives to you."  
"But you're still a murderer, nonetheless," said the White Pawn, relentlessly.  
"You had to kill him. You had no choice, and you know it," said the Black Pawn.  
"I did have a choice. I made the wrong one," said Mireille.  
"It will haunt you for the rest of your life, as it should," said the White Pawn.  
"Listen to me, not him. I'm on your side!" said the Black Pawn. "Murder is rarely justified, but in your case it was. He deserved what he got. You made the right choice. Now learn to accept it. You have so much potential in you, and so much courage. Put this behind you, and use it to your advantage. You will be a great hero. You already are."  
Mireille felt Lucien shaking her awake. "Mireille!" he shouted. "Wake up! What's the matter? You were more than just asleep. You were in a trance or something. Elisa was, too. And you both talked in your sleep. I just woke her up, before I woke you."  
Mireille looked over at Elisa, who was yawning and shuddering. "Elisa? What's wrong?"  
"The Black Rook spoke to me. It said my destiny lies in Tuscany. But it also said there will be great danger for me there."  
Mireille smiled. "Tuscany is a beautful place, or so I've heard. I would love to go there myself."  
"I certainly wouldn't mind living there. But the danger..."  
"We're all in danger, Elisa. All of us in the Game. Even Lucien, who's not in the Game, if he goes after the White King."  
"And I will, I promise," said Lucien.  
"The pawns spoke to me, too," said Mireille. And she told them what they'd said.  
"Well, your Black Pawn was right," said Lucien.  
"So you believe us, that the pieces spoke to us?" asked Elisa.  
"Of course I do. I remember what happened with the White King. These pieces have a tremendous power behind them. I don't think we know even the smallest part of what they can do."  
"But why do they speak only to Elisa and me?" asked Mireille.  
"Are you sure they don't speak to anyone else?"  
"No, I'm not sure. But when Valentine and I had those pieces in their hands, they never spoke to her."  
"Poor Valentine! Perhaps they knew she was doomed," said Lucien. "But they know the two of you have a great future ahead."  
"I hope you're right," said Elisa. And then they reached the city, and Lucien tied up the boat. They walked the short distance to the Bonapartes' house, where they were met with embraces from everyone.  
In the short time Lucien had at home, before he went back to Corsica to get the White King from Caragone, Elisa decided to put on one of her theatricals, to lift Mireille's spirits. She chose a comedy, Corneille's L'Illusion comique. even though Mireille knew Elisa preferred tragedy to comedy. All the Bonapartes acted in it, and Mireille, Felix, Désirée, and Julie were the audience. They passed around a copy of the book among them, and at times Elisa, who played the leading female role, would step off the stage, tap someone in the audience, and ask them to read a line. All except Mireille, who, Elisa knew, felt uncomfortable. But as Mireille watched, she got into the spirit of the play and asked Elisa to let her read a line. Her voice was hesitant at first, but she did well in the end.  
The two girls embraced at the end of the play. "I'm so proud of you, Mireille!" said Elisa. "I always have been, you know." Then she whispered, "I know you feel terrible about what happened, but you have got to put it behind you, and go on with your life. Like our Black Pawn said, I believe you're destined for great things."  
"I don't know about that," said Mireille. "And I will never be able to forget what I did. I don't even know if I can forgive myself. But I know I have to go on."  
"And you have many people who love you."  
"I know that. But what if I can't love Lucien the way he wants me to? I know that's what you want, too."  
"Yes, I would love for you to be Lucien's wife, I admit it. I always have. But if it's not meant to be, it isn't."  
"Would you still be my friend?"  
"Of course. That goes without saying!" And they embraced once more.  
That night, in their bedroom, Mireille stayed up late reading. Too many thoughts were running through her head for her to sleep. "What book is that?" asked Elisa.  
"A Russian dictionary."  
"You're learning Russian?"  
"Yes, the Abbess is in Russia now, and she may be in danger. After I go to the desert for my son and Shahin, and to London to reunite with Talleyrand, I intend to go to Russia to find her."  
"But they all speak French in Russia. Why do you need to learn Russian?"  
"The nobility speaks French. The common people speak nothing but Russian."  
"But surely you'll be among the nobility?"  
"Not necessarily. What if the carriage breaks down and I need to ask for directions?"  
"Yes, I see where it might be useful. When did you start learning Russian?"  
"A few days ago, before we went to the island."  
"And how much can you speak now?"  
Mireille recited some complete sentences in Russian, even though Elisa, of course, had no idea what she was saying. When Mireille was finished, Elisa said, "Mireille de Remy, you will never cease to amaze me!"  
Mireille shook her head. "I only wish there were some great novels in Russian, or poetry, or plays. Something more interesting than this dictionary. But it will have to do."  
"Perhaps someday there will be."  
"Yes, perhaps. I wonder if we will live to see it, though."  
"Well, I won't be learning Russian. I will never have your ability to learn languages."  
"You know two already."  
"Two are plenty for me right now. But I will always admire your ability."  
"Thank you. For everything. Your friendship means so much to me, Elisa. There were times I would rather have been dead, but you taught me I must go on with my life."  
The two girls embraced once again, and Elisa went to sleep. Mireille continued studying the Russian dictionary, well into the night, until she finally slept as well. And this time no nightmares troubled her sleep.  
On the next morning, Mireille took her leave of the Bonapartes, except for Lucien, who had already left for Corsica, in disguise, very early in the morning before anyone else was awake. He left a note for her, which said, "It's better that I leave without a long farewell. I understand you have many feelings to sort out. But whatever you decide, remember I love you." Tears came to Mireille's eyes when she read his note, and she wished she could love him as much as he loved her.  
Elisa came with her to the dock, where Mireille was about to board the ship going to Tripoli. She embraced her and asked, "Must you leave so soon?"  
"I'm afraid so. I have to find Talleyrand and then the Abbess. I'm afraid they're both in danger."  
"I wonder when we will see each other again."  
"It may be a long time. Who knows when I'll be back in France. Perhaps never, if Caragone carries out his threat."  
Elisa smiled. "He won't, I'm sure. But perhaps next time we see each other, it will be in Tuscany."  
"I've always wanted to go to Tuscany. I've heard it's very beautiful."  
"Who knows whether what those pieces say to us is true or not. Or even whether it's real or all a dream. But I know you think it's real."  
"More or less. But I don't understand how it happens, and why they only talk to us."  
"Meanwhile, we will correspond, won't we?"  
"Of course. But, Elisa, if there's anything I need to say in my letters that should be kept secret, I will put it in code. A more complicated code than the one Caragone used, replacing A with I, and so on."  
"But I could never figure out a more complicated code. I don't even know how you figured that one out so quickly, except that you're a genius and I'm not." Elisa shook her head.  
"You are extremely intelligent, Elisa. And I will explain how the code works, so you'll know how to decipher it. I will replace the first letter with the one eight places down the alphabet. A with I, and so on, as you said. Then, for the second letter, I'll replace it with the one eight places up the alphabet, so I would be A. For the third letter, I'll go back to the system I used for the first letter. And so I'll alternate between the letters. Odd-numbered letters, eight places down the alphabet. Even-numbered letters, eight places up the alphabet."  
Elisa shook her head. "I don't know how I'm going to figure that out. It's too complex for me."  
"Write down the alphabets on a separate piece of paper to figure it out. Once you learn it, it will become easy. And then you could use the same code in your letters."  
"Well, now that you've explained it, I think I could figure it out. It will take a while, though. Don't worry if it takes a long time before you get a letter from me."  
"And it might take a while for me to write. I don't know how long I'll be in the desert, and then I'll go to England. I might not be able to write until I'm in London. Who knows how long I'll stay there. It depends on how things go with Talleyrand. Then, of course, I hope to go to Russia, and you know how unreliable the mail service is there. But I hope we see each other sooner than we think."  
"So do I," said Elisa. They embraced one more time, and they waved good-bye to each other as Mireille boarded the ship.


End file.
